Did You Think You Were the First to Fight Back?
by queen of the imps
Summary: Lisa is horrified to discover that she, not Jackson, will be arrested for the Keefe attack. Ch. 8: Sleep is a luxury when you're running for your life.
1. Prologue

A/N: Okay, so I'm sure that some of you are wondering why this has been reposted as such. Well, apparently, wasn't too keen on the fact that I kept posting replies to my reviews, so it got deleted. Minus some grumbling, I'm going to repost the chapters that I've already written, and then update from there. So, anyway, here's the prologue, which I hope you'll all enjoy (again). By the way, there might be _some _changes from the original, but nothing too drastic. Anyway, on with the fic.

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Disclaimer: I don't own 'Red Eye' or any of My Chemical Romance's songs. Or Wicked.

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"No good deed goes unpunished

No act of charity goes unresented…

No good deed goes unpunished  
All helpful urges should be circumvented

No good deed goes unpunished

Sure, I meant well

Well, look at what well-meant did."

-'No Good Deed' from 'Wicked'

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"And then…you can shove it up your ass!"

Lisa and Cynthia burst out laughing once again over the little incident with the two customers back in the lobby. Part of the reason they were laughing so hard was because of how funny it was. The other part was that they had had more than their normal share of alcohol in the last hour. Both of them were drinking tequilas-Lisa had tried it on Cynthia's recommendation. As long as it wasn't a Baybreeze or a Seabreeze, she'd try it.

"Excuse me, miss?"

Lisa turned her head to see a tall police officer standing a few feet away, looking down at her curiously. "Are you Lisa Reisert?"

Lisa, completely drunk by this point, laughed and waved her hand at the officer. "Dun worry, we're not driving, if that's what y'need to know."

The policeman offered a dry, awkward laugh before replying. "No, no, ma'am, I need to speak to you about what happened to the Keefes. The police department needs you to come in for some questioning."

Lisa blinked. She had completely forgotten about the Keefes in the process of getting drunk. The tequilas had really gone to her brain and, like it or not, she was a complete lightweight. When the Keefes, the missile, and Jackson Ripner all reentered her brain, she tried to look as sober as possible for the officer. "Oh, o-of course. How shtupid of me." She knew she was slurring her words, but, at this point, she couldn't help it.

The policeman nodded, then glanced at the empty tequila glasses that littered the lounge table. Lisa felt her cheeks turn red with embarrassment from acting so unprofessional, in her own _hotel_ for that matter. When the officer looked away, she tried to stammer out some sort of apology. "I-I'm really sh-shorry, I dun normally…"

"That's alright, ma'am, it's not a problem." The officer flashed a very forced smile in her direction before holding out his hand to help her up from her chair. Lisa, grateful for the assistance, grabbed his arm and attempted to hoist herself out of her chair. She fell over anyway, nearly making the policeman fall down as well. Cynthia laughed her ass off.

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About fifteen minutes later, Lisa had managed to stumble her way into the police station and was sitting on a bench outside of the inspector's office while he went to get the necessary paperwork and a tape recorder. Lisa sat there, twiddling her thumbs, realizing full well what a wreck she must look like to everyone there. Not that she cared. The tequilas had taken care of that.

A young-looking officer was about to walk by Lisa when he noticed her bloodshot eyes and the reek of alcohol. He frowned a little at the scent and asked Lisa, "Ma'am, have you been drinking?"

Lisa laughed as though this were the funniest thing in the world. "I dunno, you tell me."

The officer frowned even more. "Have any of the other officers given you a Breathalyzer yet?" Lisa shook her head before replying. "Why would they? I'm not drunk, I'm only shtoned." She started to laugh again as the officer walked away quickly, fetching the necessary equipment for the Breathalyzer.

The officer had already returned and administered the test by the time the investigator had returned. "Hey, what do you think you're doing?" The second officer blinked. "I figured she was a DWI, and…"

"You idiot, if she was a DWI, she'd be in handcuffs by now."

"Oh…sorry, sir…" The second officer glanced down at Lisa quickly before walking away. The investigator turned to Lisa, smiling apologetically. "I'm sorry about tha-…"

His apology was wasted, as Lisa had just passed out on the bench.

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When Lisa woke up, she was still on the bench outside the investigator's office. Someone had draped a blanket over her, and more people were bustling around than there were when she had first come in.

Lisa groaned and looked at her watch. She'd been out for quite awhile. At least she'd slept through most of her hangover. She mentally smacked herself for doing something so stupid in the middle of a police station.

Well, the drinks had helped her forget about Jackson, at least. She was going to need a hell of a lot of forgetting. She knew what it was like to have to deal with sudden, unexpected traumas and she knew she would still see him in her nightmares for years to come. She hadn't gone a single night without one for years.

An officer she hadn't seen before came down the hallway and tried to smile at her reassuringly. "Good morning."

LLisa tried to smile, but it came off weakly thanks to a royal headache. "Morning."

"Some of the officers were taking bets that you were some homeless gal that took to our offices. But most of 'em figured out that most homeless people can't afford Prada shoes."

Lisa laughed weakly. "Sorry about that. I don't usually drink that much…"

"S'alright. But you need to talk to the investigator. He still needs to question you."

Lisa nodded, and stood up while gathering her purse. "Thanks. Where…?"

"He's over in that door, second one on the left."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

And with that, Lisa entered the investigator's office.

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"Stay out of the light

Of the photographs that I gave you

You can say a prayer if you need to

But just get in line and I'll grieve you

Can I meet you alone?  
Another night and I'll see you

Another night and I'll be you

Some other way to continue

To hide my face"

-'I Never Told You What I Do For a Living' by MY Chemical Romance


	2. There Were Two Blackbirds

Disclaimer: As much as I would like to own 'Red Eye', I don't. If I did, there'd have been a hell of a better ad campaign.

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Chapter 1, Take 2! Repost version!

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_Quos deus vult perdere prius dementat: _Those whom the gods would destroy, they first drive mad.

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Lisa was waiting patiently for the investigator to begin questioning when she remembered the dream she'd had while she'd been passed out.

She remembered it vividly. Hot breathing on her face, and a knife at her throat. A hoarse voice telling her to shut up and stop crying. Large hands shoving her into the backseat of her own car. Screaming and screaming, but no one coming to help her. Looking up, expecting to see her rapist's face, but instead seeing Jackson Ripner, an evil grin spreading across his face.

"_What made you such a loner, Leese? Was it your parents' divorce? Aw, did someone break your heart?"_

She shivered, and tried to push the memory from her mind. It was bad enough having dreams of that day in the parking lot…now, she'd have dreams of Jackson, too. She'd probably never get a good night's sleep for a long time. The only time she'd slept well in a while was the result of a head butt onboard the plane.

"Ma'am?"

Lisa practically jumped at the investigator's query. She'd been so lost in her own thoughts that she was almost shocked to see him standing in front of her.

"…y-yes?"

"Are you ready to be questioned?"

She nodded, trying to recover her composure. "Mm-hmm."

"Good." The investigator switched on the tape recorder, and Lisa watched as the tape in the cassette spun slowly, recording every sound that was made.

"Now, just go over everything that happened in regards to what happened on the plane, what happened to the Keefes, and anything else you think we might need to know."

Lisa nodded, and tried to think: where had it all started? Grandma Henrietta. The funeral. Meeting Jackson in the airport. She started from there, stumbling over her words and having some trouble keeping her focus. The alcohol really had gotten to her, and she had one hell of a headache. Still, she tried as best she could to tell the investigator what had happened, but she had the feeling she was forgetting things and getting them out of the order. She wished she could have done this sober.

Still, the investigator didn't seem to notice anything wrong, until she got to the part where she stabbed Jackson with the pen. "…and when the seatbelt sign switched off, he looked up at it, and I jabbed the pen at his throat, and…"

The investigator held up his hand to stop her. "Wait…so you're saying that this Jackson person is the one you stabbed with the pen?"

"Yeah…"

He frowned. "And this is the same man that you and your father shot back at your home?"

Lisa felt a little bewildered. "Yeah…why?"

"…you said his name was Jackson, correct?"

"…yeah…"

The investigator flipped through the pages in a rather large file that he was holding, and Lisa wondered what the problem was. "Ms. Reisert, we don't have anyone by the name of Jackson on file for anything involved in this case. When the paramedics picked up the man at your house, we found his Driver's License, his Social Security card, his passport, everything…"

Lisa looked confused, "Wait…so Jackson isn't his name?"

"Ma'am, by all indications, we're dealing with a man by the names of James Crane. When the paramedics got him, we found his Driver's License and his passport, and they both seem to be legit."

Lisa blinked. _James Crane?_ Jackson must have been an alias…or maybe James Crane was his alias. Or maybe they both were. All she knew was that this was making her think too hard for someone dealing with a hangover.

The investigator continued speaking. "Ma'am, you wouldn't happen to know what his full name was, would you?"

She nodded, still trying to process this new information. "Yeah, he said it was Jackson Ripner."

The investigator stared at her incredulously. "Jackson…Ripner."

"Yeah."

"Jack Ripner. As in…Jack _the_ Ripner."

Lisa blinked, then felt her cheeks begin to burn red. Of course the investigator was looking so skeptical. It sounded like an alias as soon as it rolled off her tongue. And, of course, she'd fallen for it. When Jackson…er, _James_…had told her his 'name', she hadn't suspected anything because she had no reason to. She'd just been sitting at a bar with a guy. Still, she felt mortified for not figuring it out sooner.

The investigator interrupted her thought process as he shuffled more of his papers and asked her to continue her story of the events. She continued as best she could, feeling all the more embarrassed, until she reached the part where she returned to the hotel.

"…and Cynthia told me that everything was OK, and we went to the bar for some drinks, and later the officer came to bring me here."

The investigator scribbled some notes onto a notepad. Lisa merely watched him, her head still pounding. She needed to go home and sleep. She was exhausted, she was in a daze, and she'd just gone through hell only a few hours ago. She really, really just wanted to go home.

The investigator finally looked up from his notes, frowning. Lisa stared at him blankly, inwardly pleading with him to let her go home. Or to at least let them break for coffee.

"Alright, Ms. Reisert, let me ask you a few questions…" Damn.

"Yes?"

"…how much, exactly, did you have to drink before getting on the plane?"

Lisa blinked. She hadn't expected to be asked that. "I had some of the wine at the funeral, and I had a Baybreeze at the bar before the flight."

"How much wine?"

Lisa thought for a moment. "I don't remember."

"Give me an estimate."

"…I honestly don't remember. I remember getting up to refill my glass a bunch of times, but I wasn't really counting…"

"Did you order any drinks on the plane?"

"No."

The investigator scribbled this down. Lisa frowned slightly. What did the wine have to do with anything?

When he finished writing, he turned over his page of looseleaf and began talking again. "Alright, then. Have you ever met Mr. Crane before in your life?"

Lisa shook her head. "No, never."

"And he told you his name was Jackson Ripner?"

"Yeah."

"When exactly did he tell you that was his name?"

"At the bar, while we were having our drinks." The investigator began to scribble even more furiously, and Lisa felt bewildered. Why was he asking these questions? She'd expected more questions about the Keefes and the missile, but he seemed to be obsessed with what she drank. She watched as he continued scribbling.

"Um, sir?" The investigator looked up at her, eyebrow raised. "I just wanted to know…what's the purpose for all those questions? I mean, about the wine and everything."

The investigator looked at her very seriously and seemed to be thinking something over. Lisa wondered if she'd said something wrong. After a few seconds, he spoke. "Ma'am…"

"It's just that…I mean, I really don't understand what that has to do with anything…"

"Ma'am, do you remember how that officer last night made you take a Breathalyzer?"

"Yeah, vaguely…"

"Well, after you passed out, we decided to get the results from it, even though you weren't a DWI. From the readings we got, you were more than fairly drunk."

Lisa's cheeks burned. "I really don't see what that has to do…"

"Ma'am, do how often do you drink alcohol?"

Lisa stammered. "Um…a-about once a week I get a drink at the bar around the corner, but it's only a Seabreeze or two, so I mean…I mean, I don't try and get drunk or anything, but I'm such a lightweight…"

The officer held up his hand to silence her, and Lisa stopped talking. "Ma'am, we talked to the two flight attendants on board your flight when they reported your little incident with the pen. One of them says your breath smelled like alcohol when you called her over to your seat."

"I told you, I had a Baybreeze before the flight…"

"And how intoxicated were you?"

"I..I hit my head on the luggage rack when I sat down, but that was it…"

"But the flight attendant could still smell your breath, even with Mr. Crane sitting in between you two."

Lisa finally lost her patience. "Look, I don't understand what any of this has to do with the Keefe's room exploding. Isn't that what we're supposed to be talking about?"

"Ma'am…"

"I mean, a man tries to kill the head of Homeland Security, he breaks into my house, he tries to kill me and my father, and here you are making me recite every drink I've ever had in my life?"

The investigator spoke to her calmly, not wanting to provoke her further. "Ma'am, just settle down. If what you say is true, then you have nothing to worry about if you just answer the questions."

Lisa swallowed and nodded, feeling a little embarrassed about her outburst. The investigator continued speaking. "We have to explore everything that went on last night, and that means _everything_. Don't think that Mr. Crane will get off easy when it's his turn to get questioned."

Lisa blinked. "You haven't talked to him yet?"

The investigator looked like he was starting to get annoyed, but Lisa didn't care. Why on earth wouldn't they immediately question him, the man behind all of this? Why was she such a priority when he was the one who had tried to kill the Keefes?

"Ms. Reisert, Mr. Crane had to go through emergency surgery for the two bullets lodged in his chest, along with the hole in his throat. From what I've heard, he's not going to be conscious for quite some time, not to mention unfit for questioning."

Lisa blinked again. "Oh."

The investigator shuffled his papers a little before continuing to speak. "In regards to your drinking, we just need to know about your level of judgment during all of these events…"

"But I wasn't _drunk_, I was just…"

"_Ms. Reisert._" The investigator's icy tone silenced her. She realized he'd finally lost her patience with her, but at this point, she really didn't care. This was too much…he was treating her as though _she_ was the criminal. But she'd saved five lives, the Keefes' and her father's. Hell, if you thought about it, she probably saved a lot more, if you considered the fact that Jackson would have otherwise gone on to live a long life of killing other people…

Lisa sat there for a few seconds before beginning to talk again. "You think I'm a drunk, don't you?"

The investigator sighed. "Ma'am, I'm just asking you about what happened last night. Now, if you're willing to _cooperate_, then we can get things done much more easily."

Lisa nodded, but she still felt anxious. As the investigator continued talking, she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. "Alright then…when you were on the plane, did Mr. Crane mention what organization he worked for, or who it was that wanted the Keefes killed?"

Lisa shook her head. "He didn't say. He just said that he was doing what his clients wanted. He never said who they were."

More scribbling in the notepad. Lisa felt her headache worsen. Did this man do anything other than ask questions and scribble in notepads? The noise of the pen on the paper made her head hurt worse, and she probably wasn't going to be able to leave for quite some time.

Lisa listened to him write for what seemed like an eternity. What did she say that was so fascinating? What the hell was there to interpret? Was he trying to write down every detail of her life?

Jackson had probably made notes like these the eight weeks he had watched her.

Startling herself with the thought of Jackson following her, Lisa suddenly felt a bit more sober. She tried to calm herself mentally by reminding herself that he was in some hospital, unconscious, with two bullets delivered to his chest via the Reisert family.

The investigator finished, looked up, and began asking questions again. "Before your flight, had you ever met Mr. Crane?"

"No. I don't remember ever seeing him before."

More scribbling. "And you met him at the airport when one of the passengers began to complain to the airline worker."

"Mm-hmm."

"And you didn't know until you got on the plane that you two were going to be sitting next to each other?"

"No."

Again, the scratching of the pen against the paper. "I see…" Lisa's headache pounded inside her head. She was tired. She was hungry. She just wanted to go home.

Well, at least she wasn't thirsty. The tequilas apparently were good for something.

"Alright, Ms. Reisert. Next question: did you know the couple whose car you took when you left the airport?"

Lisa blinked. She'd forgotten about stealing that SUV. "No."

"Alright. When you spotted the man at your father's door, did you attempt to speak to him at all, or try and figure out who he was?"

"No."

"…so, essentially, your first instinct was to run him over with a car?"

Lisa was taken aback a bit, and stammered for words. "Well, I mean…when we were on the plane, Jackson-er, Mr. Crane had told me that his associate would be sitting out in a silver beamer in front of the house, and when I saw no one in the car, I just sort of…panicked, I guess." As the investigator jotted down more notes, Lisa realized how bad that must make her look to the police: before even trying to figure out who that man was, she'd rammed him head-on with an SUV.

"When you stabbed Mr. Crane with the pen, he was very angry, correct?"

"That's an understatement. He was furious."

"How furious?"

"Well, he chased me through the airport and followed me back to my house. I think that counts as pretty damn pissed."

"Alright, then…what about your little tryst in the bathroom?"

Lisa blinked. "Our _what?_"

"One of the stewardesses onboard the flight says that a young girl saw both of you enter the airplane's bathroom together, then heard loud thudding noises. Two of the stewardesses saw you leave the bathroom, and heard Mr. Crane say, and I quote, 'Thanks for the quickie.'"

Lisa's eyes widened. Oh _shit_. She hadn't realized…but of course that's what they'd think. A man and a woman going into a stall together would seem suspicious, wouldn't it?

This made things even worse.

Lisa tried to swallow her disgust at the thought of her and Jackson doing…_that_ before she replied to the investigator, who seemed almost amused by her reaction. "You…y'see, I told him that I needed to go to the bathroom, and when I went in, I tried to write a warning on the mirror with soap, but he followed me in, and…and…"

"And?"

"And he got angry, and he started throwing me against the wall, and…"

"Are you saying he raped you?"

"No, no, but he threw me against the wall and told me to stop trying to warn people and to stop risking my dad's life, and then…then…" She didn't want to mention the scar. She couldn't. Things were too confusing already…and she didn't want them to know. Besides, it had nothing to do with Jackson or the plane.

"And? What did he do next?" The investigator watched her calmly, and Lisa felt frustrated for not being able to see any hint of an emotion on his face.

"And then he washed off the soap, and he pushed me out, and we went back to our seats." Lisa stared at the table, not wanting to look at the investigator's face anymore.

"I see…"

Lisa sat there, staring at the table for a while as the investigator wrote more notes. When he finished, he began putting everything he'd written into a folder, and as he opened his mouth to speak, Lisa spoke again. "You don't believe a word I've told you, do you?"

The investigator sighed, then looked at her straight in the eye. "Ma'am, you have to understand the position the police are in right now. A missile hits the Lux Atlantic Hotel, right where the Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security is staying with his family. Meanwhile, we're getting frantic calls from the airport about some guy getting stabbed in the neck and a couple whose car got stolen. At the same time, the 911 operators are telling us that a man got run over in front of your house, and that someone's in there trying to kill you."

Lisa's temper flared again. "But I explained everything! I told you exactly what happened!"

"Yes, you gave us your version of the events. However, right now, we have very little evidence that would indicate that Mr. Crane is, or has ever been, involved with any kinds of terrorist organization. From what we know, he's some sort of loner from near Tallahassee. Used to work for some dot com company, but he bailed a few months before they went belly-up. Retired at age 25, thanks to said dot com company. No record of criminal activity, except for an incident in high school when he trashed the car of some kids who'd been giving him a hard time. Had to take anger management courses for awhile. Parents are dead, has a brother that he never talks to that works as the head of an asylum. All in all, nothing overly suspicious."

Lisa continued to protest. "But that doesn't mean anything, he could do all sorts of shit behind the police's back..."

"…On the other hand, there's you. You, who got drunk that day at a funeral and got drunk later before the flight, who stabs a man in the throat, steals a car, and then kills a man by running him over with the stolen car. You, who, when the man you stabbed came back in a rage, shot him with the gun of the man you ran over with the car. And when the police come to get you for questioning, they find you drunk to the point where you pass out in the police station. And when I ask you questions, you tell me a very unlikely, very hard to believe story about how the man you stabbed and shot is really the one we should be arresting. And when I continue, you seem to get overly upset about questions regarding what happened." The investigator looked at her, and Lisa felt her heart sink. "So, tell me, Ms. Reisert, what am I supposed to believe? What story am I supposed to go with?"

Lisa said nothing for a few seconds, and she tried her best to not cry or scream at him. "I saved the Keefes…anyone will tell you that I was the one who called the hotel to change the Keefes' room…"

"Yes, but you were also the one that switched them into that room in the first place."

"But I saved their lives."

The investigator sighed. "Yes, and that means that we don't have enough evidence to build a case against you. But we also don't have enough evidence to build a case against anyone else."

Lisa just sat there, not knowing what to say at all. The investigator glanced at her before continuing to speak. "We still have a lot to do. We have to find out who exactly it was that was standing in front of your house, we need to talk to Mr. Crane, and we still haven't questioned the hotel staff." He sighed again, then put a rubber band around all of the notes in his file. "You can go. But we'll probably need to bring you in for more questioning later."

Lisa nodded, and as she stood up, she felt sick to her stomach. This was insane. Looking back on it now, of course it looked bad for her. She'd stabbed a guy in the throat, stolen a car, driven over another guy…

But she'd saved Keefe. Didn't that help her case at least a little?

And Jackson…oh, wait, _Jim. _Jim Crane. Lisa mentally yelled at herself. Jackson Ripner. Of course it was a fake name. No wonder the investigator had looked at her like that. It made sense that he wouldn't tell her his real name if all he was going to do was hold her hostage. In fact, it was the obvious thing to do, and she'd fallen for it. Hook, line, and sinker.

She sat down on a bench outside the police station and let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. This was insane…everything that had been happening seemed almost surreal. And the investigator seemed to think the same thing. But it was _real_; it had _happened_. Did they think that a missile had hit the hotel by a coincidence?

She suddenly remembered that she hadn't checked her cell phone's voice mail for hours. She instinctively reached for her purse, but was startled to realize it wasn't there. Then she remembered. Jackson had put it with the luggage so she wouldn't use anything in it against him. She'd left without it, so it must still be on the plane…actually, come to think of it, the police probably had it after that incident with the pen. They might use it as evidence.

Her dad must be worried sick. He'd probably called a million times since she'd left the house. And since she hadn't picked up any of them, he was probably losing his mind with worry. Especially after what happened the other night.

Lisa groaned when she realized she didn't have her car with her. She could ask one of the officers for a ride…or she could call a taxi. Instead, she decided to kill two birds with one stone and call her dad for a ride. At this point, she didn't really feel two comfortable getting into a car…a closed, claustrophobic area…with a stranger.

After Lisa had found a payphone, she dialed in her father's number. The phone rang several times, and Lisa found herself feeling anxious. Why wasn't he picking up? She reassured herself by reminding herself that not picking up on the third ring didn't mean anything.

It was funny, in a way. Their roles had reversed. Normally, it was her dad who panicked if she didn't pick up right away. Lisa couldn't think of a time when she'd been so worried about her dad picking up the phone.

Oh, wait. Yes, she could. On the plane, when Jackson had told her about his associate outside his house. When he'd showed her the wallet with 'JR' stitched onto it. When he'd told her about his associate sharpening his knife.

"_Does he sound healthy to you?_"

Lisa shuddered. She didn't want to think about Jackson right now. She would see his face enough in her nightmares.

Suddenly, her father's voice sounded into the headphone. "Hello?"

"Dad!"

"Leese! Where are you? I've been trying to reach you for hours now, but your cell phone never picked up…"

"I'm really sorry. I left my cell phone in my purse on the plane…"

"That's okay, as long as you're alright. Is everything okay?"

When he asked her that familiar question, Lisa could feel herself starting to tear up suddenly. She surprised even herself. She'd held back all of her emotion from the flight and the questioning, but now it just seemed to burst out of her. No, everything was not okay. She'd been held hostage on a plane, she'd been attacked, a man had tried to kill her and her father, and now the police thought she was a crazy alcoholic. Nothing was okay. It felt like nothing would ever be okay.

Her dad must have heard her crying over the phone, because the next thing he asked her was, "Lisa, what happened? What's wrong?"

"The police…the police brought me in for questioning, and they think I'm crazy, Dad…"

"Leese, no one thinks you're crazy…"

"Dad, they came to get me while I was drinking with Cynthia, and I was plastered. I passed out in the police station, and now…"

Her dad tried to hush her as Lisa sobbed into the phone. "Leese, where are you right now?"

"Outside the police station."

"I'm gonna come get you, alright? I'll drive you home."

"Thanks."

He hung up, and for the next few minutes, Lisa just stood there, holding the phone in her hand and sobbing.

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"Check into the Hotel Bella Muerte

It gives the weak flight

It gives the blind sight

Until the cops come…

Aw, sugar

Slip into the tragedy you've spun this chamber dry"

- 'The Jetset Life is Gonna Kill You'


	3. The Lord of the Flies

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If anyone wants an explanation for the 'Lord of the Flies' stuff, just ask.

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"Jack's domain is the emotions, which rule and fuel his animal nature."

"The strong-willed, egomaniacal Jack is the…primary representative of the instinct of savagery, violence, and the desire for power"

"Jack's love of authority and violence are intimately connected, as both enable him to feel powerful and exalted."  
"His main interest is hunting, an endeavor that begins with the desire for meat and builds to the overwhelming urge to master and kill other living creatures. Hunting develops the savagery that already ran close to his surface…"

"Jack takes an entirely different direction from logic or common sense. Perhaps out of some guilt he is unable to acknowledge, Jack becomes paranoid…"

"Jack represents evil and violence, the dark side of human nature."

-excerpts from the Cliff Notes and Spark Notes for 'The Lord of the Flies'

"'I dunno, Ralph. I expect it's him.'  
'Jack?'  
'Jack.' A taboo was evolving around that word too.

Ralph nodded solemnly.

'Yes,' he said, 'I suppose it must be.'

The forest near them burst into an uproar. Demoniac figures with faces of white and red and green rushed out howling…"

-'The Lord of the Flies'

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Just as she had predicted, the nightmares came.

They were vivid and terrifying, and they seemed to vary from night to night. One night, Jackson would be holding her down in a parking lot, and her rapist would slam her into a bathroom wall the next. She dreamt one night that Jackson had strapped her onto the wing of the plane, and as the plane flew, she screamed and screamed and screamed, but no one had saved her. Another night, she'd dreamt that Jackson had snuck into her apartment and taken a pen and stabbed her, over and over again, until the sheets turned red from the blood. Another night, she'd dreamed that he and her rapist were both trying to find her, to hunt her down inside her father's house. She'd hidden in a closet, but Jackson had found her. Right before he shot her, she'd heard her father's voice coming out of his mouth.

"_Are you alright, Leese?_"

"_Are you sure?_"

That time, she'd woken up screaming.

She hadn't gone back to her apartment since the flight. Instead, she stayed at her dad's house in her old room. The idea of waking up in the middle of the night, alone in her apartment, frightened Lisa. She felt some sort of assurance staying inside her father's house, where at least she wasn't alone.

Part of her felt like this was almost unnecessary; that, if she just went back to her apartment and moved on, everything would be alright again. But the thought of having to go back to her apartment and stay there, pretending everything was alright while Jackson Ripner was still around, made Lisa feel nervous to the point of nausea. She wanted to be able to move on, but she still felt so…_vulnerable_.

The hotel staff had been completely understanding when Lisa asked to take some time off. They'd been haranguing her into taking some vacation time even before the infamous flight, so they had completely supported her decision. Lisa couldn't feel more grateful. At this point, she really, _really_ needed support.

For the last two weeks, she'd stayed at her father's house, either moping around the house all day, watching the comedy reruns with her dad, or walking around town aimlessly. She would sit down in a bookstore sometimes and pick up a magazine, then look up at a clock and notice that three hours had passed. She barely ate anything, and because of her night terrors, she was constantly exhausted. She gave off the appearance of a skeleton, making her father worry all the more. "I know things are tough right now, sweetie," he said, "but things will go back to normal. You'll see."

She hated this. She hated this feeling of vulnerability that she had because of Jackson. When she'd been raped, the first thing she'd told herself was that she was in control, and that if she stayed in control, it wouldn't happen again. She wouldn't _let_ it happen again. But she had. Granted, she hadn't been raped, but this just as bad. Maybe even worse. And over and over again, she heard Jackson's response when he'd heard about what had happened.

"_…it was beyond your control._"

Whenever she thought of that phrase, she felt rage bubbling up. Rage at Jackson, rage at herself, rage at the police, rage at her rapist, rage at _everyone_. She wanted things to be within her control, but once things got out of hand, she didn't know what to do. Jackson was right. The rape had been beyond her control. The flight had been beyond her control. The police were beyond her control. Her whole _life_ was beyond her control.

She hated Jackson for being right.

The newspapers were starting to get frantic about what had happened. Although the police had issued a statement that said they had some leads, people were still angry that they didn't know who these leads were. They were also angry that no one cared to explain how exactly a missile had made its way to the Keefes' hotel room in the first place, or who had been involved, or what exactly had taken place. Keefe, for his part, had remained silent on the whole issue. Lisa, at this point, didn't give too much of a damn.

About two weeks after her first questioning by the police, the station called her father's house, asking her to come in for more questioning. This time, Lisa had the benefit of going in sober: she dressed herself in respectable business clothes, made sure she looked well-kempt, and drank some coffee on the way over to keep up her energy level. She didn't want them to mistake her for the woman who'd passed out on the bench.

For the most part, it was the same as last time. There were a few more questions about terrorists this time ('_Have you ever considered joining a terrorist organization?' 'Does anyone you know have a connection to a terrorist organization?' 'How do you feel about the Department of Homeland Security?'_) and about any possibility that she was an alcoholic (_'Has anyone in your family ever had a drinking problem?' 'When you drink, do you always get drunk?' 'Do you drink socially or by yourself?'_) There were more questions, and Lisa felt as though she had to repeat herself every five seconds, but she managed to keep her temper under control this time. She had already made enough of a bad impression the last time she had gone to visit the police. She didn't need to make her situation worse.

As she was walking out of the room where the police had questioned her, she turned to one of the officers and asked abruptly, "Whatever happened to Jackson?"

The officer blinked. "What?"

"Jackso-…I mean, Mr. Crane. What happened to him?"

"The surgery to remove the bullets from his abdomen was successful, and the doctors managed to successfully restore his throat. He's still recuperating at the hospital, I believe. We went there about a week ago for questioning."

Lisa absorbed this for a few seconds, before replying. "I want to talk to him."

"What?"

"I want to see him. I need to talk to him."

The officer looked worried as soon as she had said this, but she began speaking again before he could offer some half-hearted excuse. "I haven't been arrested, have I? He hasn't been arrested, has he? There's no legal reason for you to keep me from talking to him."

The officer stammered a bit, then turned to the investigator (thankfully, not the one from Lisa's last encounter). The investigator shrugged. "She's right. Neither of them are officially suspects."

The officer sighed, then turned to Lisa. "Alright. We can let you visit him, but I'd prefer that you be escorted by one of our officers."

Lisa quickly agreed. Whatever it took, she needed to see Jackson.

A few hours later, she sat outside Jackson's hospital room while one of the officers discussed with the attending nurse whether or not Jackson would be up to a visitor. Lisa sat off to the side, staring into space, not really hearing what anyone was saying.

Before he'd taken her to the hospital, the officer had warned her not to try anything stupid while she was there. He had searched through her purse to ensure that no concealed weapons were there. There was nothing, although Lisa had toyed with the idea of bringing her father's gun. She'd decided against it when she realized that, if an officer _did_ search through her purse, it would look more than a little suspicious.

Besides, she had a multitude of pens, just in case.

When he had finished talking to the nurse, the officer wandered back to Lisa, who snapped out of a reverie when he approached. "The nurse says it's alright if you visit him, but he's asleep right now. If you want, you can come back tomorrow…"

"No. No, I want to see him now." Lisa stated this with a steely determination, knowing that if she waited for another day, the officer might come up with some excuse to keep her away. And she needed to talk to Jackson.

It was all his fault. All of this was his damn fault. She wasn't sure what she was going to say once she got in there. Maybe she'd scream at him, maybe she'd ask why he did what he did, maybe she'd kill him. Any way it went, she needed to talk to him.

As she got up to follow the nurse, the officer looked at her sternly. "Now, remember, this is just a _visit_. I don't want you getting any ideas in your head about using this for revenge or anything. And I'll be out here, watching you," he indicated the window on the door, "so don't try anything."

Lisa nodded, then followed the nurse inside.

True to her word, the nurse was right. Jackson lay there, sleeping peacefully in his hospital bed, not giving any signs of noticing Lisa or the nurse's presence. The nurse, having let Lisa in, spoke to her quietly, "If he stops sleeping, then visiting him is fine. But don't try and wake him up. He's still recovering, and needs his rest."

Lisa nodded, pretending to care. In reality, she really didn't give a damn how much beauty rest Jackson got. But she decided to follow the nurse's orders, and merely sat on one of the chairs near Jackson's bed as the nurse quietly left the room.

It was almost eerie, looking at the man who'd kept her under his thumb back on the plane. On the flight he'd seemed powerful, dominating, almost super-human in the way that he knew everything about her and was able to counter any move she'd made. When she'd stabbed him, he'd lost some of that powerful aura, but it hadn't stopped her from being frightened of him when he showed up at her house, doing all that he could to kill her.

And now, here he was, lying on a sterile hospital bed, asleep. He almost seemed too normal to be real. Lisa, in her mind, had elevated him to an untouchable status. On the plane, he'd known her so well that he'd known her every move and had been able to keep her from getting any help. Even after she'd stabbed him, he'd kept on breathing and running after her, and had found her at her father's house a mere few minutes after she'd arrived. Even after he'd been shot twice, he kept on breathing, and stayed alive. And he could even hurt her from a hospital bed. He could make the police think she was the criminal without ever having to leave a hospital room.

Lisa had done some research on gunshot wounds. She'd learned it was very difficult to survive being shot in the abdomen, since there were so many vital organs and blood vessels in that area. It was normally a wonder not to be killed instantly. But he hadn't died instantly. He was still alive even now.

He was supposed to be dead. He _should_ be dead. More than anyone else, he deserved death.

Lisa exhaled. No good getting enraged at him while he was still asleep. There'd be plenty of time for that once he was actually awake.

While waiting for Jackson to awaken, Lisa decided to busy herself by looking around the room. Not that there was much to look at. White walls, white ceiling, a few monitors that indicated that, yes, Jackson was still breathing and his heart was still beating. No balloons or get-well cards or anything like that. Lisa took an almost juvenile pleasure in the fact that Jackson didn't seem to have anyone who cared enough to send him anything.

Lisa noticed a small night table to the left of Jackson's bed. On it lay a small pile of books, pages marked haphazardly by bookmarks, or, rather, Post-its that had been folded in half. Lisa picked them up, wondering what on earth someone like Jackson Ripner would read. '_Hamlet', 'And Then There Were None', 'Death on the Nile', 'Three Blind Mice and other stories', 'A Study in Scarlet', 'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde', a_nd finally, _Lord of the Flies_. Lisa found an ironic humor in the last book's title. '_How appropriate for Jackson.'_

Every single book he had with him dealt with murder. How fitting for a killer like him. But still, kind of eerie. Lisa could imagine him reading them and scoffing at any mistakes they made, calling them amateurish. Or, maybe he used the books for tips. Or, maybe he was just sick and twisted and obsessed with murder. Maybe he just really liked Agatha Christie.

Lisa glanced down at him. He was still sleeping, his breathing slow and rhythmic, the monitors beeping in time with his exhaling. Lisa glanced out the small window on the room door. The officer was glancing through a magazine and sipping a cup of coffee. He didn't seem to be paying that much attention.

Lisa looked back at Jackson, still sleeping.

She wondered if she could kill him.

She had more pens in her purse, and she knew it had worked to some extent last time. She would just have to aim better, and use a stronger thrust. It would be easier this time. He couldn't fight back, and, if necessary, she could stab him more than once. Over and over again, until he stopped breathing and his blood had run out.

It would be all too easy.

Lisa's heart skipped a beat at the thought. She could kill Jackson. She could do it. She had the perfect opportunity. The cop wasn't watching, Jackson was asleep, there was no one in the immediate area to stop her. If she stabbed his throat, it would be hard for him to scream, and the likelihood was, no one would hear him. She could cover him up to his neck with the bed sheet when she was done, as though he were still sleeping, then walk out with the officer when she was done. No one would notice until she was long gone…

As thrilling as the idea was, the more rational part of Lisa's brain warned her against it. She'd be found out easily. It would be quite the coincidence to have her come visit and then find Jackson dead. Besides, he was hooked up to monitors that would give off an alarm if he started to die. And if she tried to cover his throat with the sheet, the blood would just soak through. It would be all too easy to figure out that it was her, and she was in enough hot water with the police as it was.

But still…Jackson would be dead.

Curious, Lisa reached into her purse and pulled out a thick pen with a sharp point. It was a nice pen that one of the hotel employees had given her when she'd been promoted to manager. It would do the trick easily.

She wondered if Jackson would even notice her moving towards him, right before the sharp stab of pain and the sudden flow of blood.

Lisa glanced out the window once more, seeing that the officer was still reading his magazine, not noticing a thing. Lisa's heart raced, and she felt almost giddy with anticipation. She crept over to Jackson's bed, pen poised, and she began to scan his throat for the best place to aim.

Just as she started raising her arm, a hand shot out and held her arm in a strong grip as a familiar voice inquired, "Et tu, Brute?"

Lisa let out a small cry before dropping the pen and stumbling backwards, sputtering, "Y-you…"

Jackson grinned as he sat up, watching her as she gaped at him. "Really, Leese, honestly. Here I was, thinking how nice it was that someone came to visit me, and then you pull a stunt like that. It hurts my feelings, Leese. Really, it does." The smirk never left his face as Lisa stammered for something to say.

"Y-you were supposed to be asleep…"

"Was I really? I guess I missed the memo on that one." Jackson cocked his head to one side, as though examining her as she stared at him. "Honestly, Leese, I wasn't sure that you were the type to kill someone in cold blood. But I did have to wonder if, given the opportunity…"

Lisa's head was pounding all of a sudden. Oh crap, she'd tried to kill him. And he knew it. Dammit, he was supposed to be _asleep_…"Shut up!"

"…well, of course, it must be tempting when you see the man who tormented you just lying there, helpless, no way to escape. But you seemed to pride yourself on being such a _nice _person…"

"_Shut up!_"

"…so I thought that maybe I'd test her, just to see if she really was the nice person she thought she was…"

"SHUT UP!"

Lisa picked up her pen and brandished it as though it were some sort of magical sword that could make Jackson stop talking. She needed to make him stop talking. She needed to think, she needed to concentrate. There was a cop standing outside the door…Jackson was supposed to be _asleep_…

….oh crap, she'd just tried to kill him.

Jackson stared at her, trying his best to seem emotionless. The hint of a cocky smile still played on the end of his lips, however. "What, are you going to try and kill me, Leese?"

Lisa, despite knowing how much of a fool she must've looked like, tried her best to seem menacing. "I could, you know. It would be easy."

Jackson shrugged. "I suppose when you're only thinking in terms of jabbing pointed objects, it would seem easy. But you seem to have too much of a fondness for the throat, Leese. If I were you, I'd aim more for the temple area."

Lisa blinked. Was he giving advice on how she should kill him? Or was he just mocking her? Then again, this was Jackson she was dealing with: of course he was mocking her. She glared at him, but he just stared at her with faux innocence.

"I'm not kidding around, _Jack_."

Jackson smiled toothily. "I never said you were. But if I were you," he raised his gaze towards the ceiling, "I'd be a little more careful."

Lisa followed his gaze, wondering what on earth he was talking about. She kept looking until she saw exactly what he had been trying to indicate.

A security camera.

'_Oh shit…'_ Lisa dropped the pen and stared at the camera, its lens carefully recording her every motion.

"Oh, _relax._ I doubt they can tell what you're up to using an old model like that." Jackson pointed at the camera, while Lisa still stared at it, internally panicking. Jackson continued, "See, those old kinds of camera became obsolete, what, twenty years ago? And they expect to protect people with them. Right now, I bet the only thing the security people can see are black and white images of the tops of our heads. The images aren't even that great. Most of the time, the picture's so fuzzy you could probably be holding a damn Uzi and they wouldn't know what the hell they were looking at. Of course, if they were to find a dead body in one of the beds…well, then it's a different story."

Lisa stopped staring at the camera, turning her head to stare at Jackson. He smirked, clearly enjoying the effect that his words had on her. "Any assassin worth his salt will tell you the same thing, _Leese_."

Lisa blinked. "You just called yourself an assassin in front of the security camera…"

"…that only records images. Plus, your little officer friend doesn't seem to be paying too much attention…" Jackson nodded towards the window on the door, where Lisa could see that the officer was still fixated on his magazine, "…since he would have rushed in here already if he'd been paying any kind of attention. You got lucky, Leese. Generally, it's about a one in three shot, getting an absent-minded cop around here."

Lisa tried to block out his words, since her head was now pounding from the onset of a sudden headache. Too much had happened in the space of less than a minute…oh shit, she'd tried to kill Jackson…

Jackson, for his part, pretended not to notice Lisa's expression of anxiety, and continued to talk as though this were an amiable conversation, even though Lisa could hear the venom that laced his words. "So, Lisa, what exactly brings you here? Other than my untimely demise, I'm sure you must have had some reason for coming here."

Lisa, snapping out of her daze, tried to recover her composure. "What did you tell the police?"

"Now, now, Leese, haven't you heard about confidentiality? If you really want to know, why don't you just ask your officer friends over at the station?" Jackson smiled with faux amiability at her. "Or are they not being as helpful as you'd like? Are they asking you questions you'd rather not answer, making accusations that you know aren't true?" The amiable smile turned into a full-on smirk as Jackson continued, "Or are you still embarrassed about getting drunk in front of the entire police department?"

Lisa glared at him, her hatred for him renewed. "How do you know about that?"

Jackson's eyes widened, almost in surprise, and he laughed, dumbfounding Lisa. "So the rumors _are _true! Lisa Reisert, the quintessence of respectability and professionalism, passes out from drinking in the middle of a police station."

Lisa's cheeks burned. "What about Jackson Ripner, certified assassin and quintessence of professionalism, getting stabbed in the throat by a zombie pen?"

The smirk vanished from Jackson's face, replaced by a look of anger and restrained temper, only to return again a second later on Lisa's face. "Hit a sore spot, did I?"

Jackson tried his best to look nonchalant, but she'd hit a nerve, and Lisa knew it. He shrugged. "You still haven't told me why you came here, _Leese_. And I'm sure it's not just to see my pretty face."

"What did you tell the police about me? Why do they think I'm a criminal?"

"Well, _Leese_, from what I heard when they came around for questioning, they pretty much laid it out for you: you've committed several different counts of assault, then there's the grand theft auto to consider, not to mention the fact that you keep _insisting _that a man with no criminal background or terrorist connections is really the one they should be watching out for. Then, you went out of your way to do something _really_ stupid by passing out in front of the cops." Jackson paused. "By the way, was it just me, or are the cops under the impression that we had sex on the flight?"

Lisa felt her face turn red again, and she decided to ignore that last question. "They'll figure out the truth. They'll eventually find some evidence…"

"_What_ evidence, Leese?" Jackson cocked an eyebrow. "What evidence is there for them to find? Last time I checked, all the evidence they had seemed to be against _you_, not me."

Lisa tried to think of something, _anything_ that the police might find that would make them suspect Jackson. "Your associate. They haven't checked his background out…"

"Yes, they have. From what they've dug up, he's nothing more than a retired car salesman from New York who moved to Florida for the fresh air."

"But he was carrying a _gun_…"

"…just like thousands of other people in this country, Leese. It's not _that_ suspicious."

"…you…you came to my house. You tried to kill me…"

"The police have already written that off as an act of rage after a certain incident with a ball-point pen. They seem to think it's understandable to be a little pissed after something like that, and no one really thinks that charges are going to end up being filed."

Lisa stammered for something to say, some iron-clad piece of evidence that Jackson was really the bad guy, not her. Try as she might, though, she couldn't think of anything. "There'll be something. There just…there_ has_ to be something…"

"Why? Why does there _have_ to be something?"

Lisa's headache pounded in her head as her frustration mounted. Why had she come here just to hear him mock her? "Because it's the _truth_, dammit! It's what _happened_…"

Jackson laughed, and Lisa found herself hating him more than ever. "What's so funny?"

"You. You think the truth really matters? Do you think anybody really cares what really happened back there?"

"Of course they do, that's why they've been…"

"_Wrong_. What they care about is finding an easy explanation for everything that happened, and right now, you're it. They blame it all on the crazy, alcoholic girl from the plane, and that's all the answers they need." Jack smiled at Lisa condescendingly. "You're a smart girl, Leese. Even you should know by now that the truth is almost never what really happened, it's just what everyone wants to believe happened. 'The truth' is nothing more than what everyone thinks is correct."

Lisa hated how Jackson talked down to her, and she tried her best to ignore it. "And here I was, thinking that you prided yourself on being such an honest person."

"I am an honest person…when I have no reason not to be. You'd be surprised how few people can say that."

"That's nothing special. Most people don't lie unless they have a reason."

"Yes, they do." Jackson gave Lisa a cold look, off-set by his ever-condescending smile. "You'd know that better than I would, Leese. After all, why lie when someone's simply asking you, say, how you like your vodka sweetened?" Jackson seemed to take delight in the way Lisa had no response to his question, one which he knew would dumbfound her. "People lie without thinking, Leese. I know that you do. I watched you long enough to know that."

Jackson began mimicking Lisa's voice by making his own sound more high-pitched. "_What's that? Have nachos with you? Sorry, I can't, I have some, erm, calls. You know, the things with the phones? Hello, Dad? Am I okay? Yeah, Dad, everything's peachy, no terrorists or anything. By the way, Jackson, I have to go to the bathroom, but I swear I won't do anything stupid while I'm in there…"_

Lisa's hand flung towards his face, but before she got to slap him as she'd planned, he'd grabbed her wrist and began digging his nails into her skin. "Hit a sore spot, did I?"

Lisa hissed in pain. "You son of a bitch…" She yanked her arm out of his grip, backing away from him as he watched her check her arm. Tiny beads of blood sprouted from where his nails had dug in, and Lisa felt her frustration mount. "You lowlife son of a bitch…"

"Sticks and stones, Leese." Jackson glared at her coldly, observing Lisa's anger with an almost clinical detachment. "By the way, you never answered my question."

"What?"

"Why are you here?" Lisa looked up to see Jackson's steely gaze, and she realized, for the first time since she'd gotten there, that she had no answer. She just gave him a hard look, which he reciprocated before sighing and turning to the books that were still littering his night table. One by one he picked them up, putting the ones he seemed to like back while tossing the rest to the other side of the room.

"Too long…pretty good…okay...so-so…too boring…piece of shit…overly laden with symbolism…"

Jackson smiled at the scattered books that lay on the other side of the room. "Well, that cuts down my reading list."

Lisa heard a small clicking noise, and the door swung open quietly to reveal the police officer. He frowned a little at the books on the floor, then turned to Lisa. "The station just called. They need me back there, so I'm afraid it's time for you to leave." Lisa nodded, picked up her purse, and walked out quietly. She made sure that she didn't even glance at Jackson as she left, doing her very best to let him know just how much she hated him. The officer, for his part, took the magazine he'd been reading with him as they left.

--------------------------------------------

"I will avenge my ghost with every breath I take

I'm coming back from the dead and I'll take you home with me

I'm taking back the life you stole

This hole you put me in

Wasn't deep enough and I'm climbing out right now

You're running out of places to hide from me"

-'It's Not a Fashion Statement, It's a Deathwish'


	4. Jack Be Nimble, Jack Be Quick

Disclaimer: I don't own 'Red Eye', 'My Chemical Romance', 'Blood Brothers', or any of the songs from 'South Pacific'.

BTW, the Bloody Mary story isn't mine either. That's a real rumor from when I was a little kid, though. Scared the crap out of me, too.

--------------------------------------------

--------------------------------------------

"Shoes upon the table  
And a spider's been killed

Someone broke the looking glass

There's a full moon shining

And the salt's been spilled

You're walking on the pavement cracks

Don't know what's gonna come to pass

Now y'know the devil's got your number

Y'know he's gonna find you

Y'know he's right behind you

He's starin' through your windows

He's creepin' down the hall"

-'Shoes Upon the Table' from 'Blood Brothers'

--------------------------------------------

That night, Lisa had some of her worst nightmares yet. They all seemed scrambled together, but they still managed to terrify her until she woke up in a cold sweat the next morning. When she tried to remember later what she had dreamt about, all she could recall were snippets and pieces. Running from men with guns. Someone holding a knife to her throat. Holding a gun in her hands, only to have someone else knock it away. Feeling a bullet enter her skull. Looking around a small room, and seeing dead bodies laying everywhere. Being buried in a grave, and having the dirt choke her as she tried to scream for help.

As she sat at the kitchen table at 6 AM, eating scrambled eggs, she knew that she wouldn't be getting a good night's rest for a long time.

As she ate her eggs calmly, her dad wandered in, trying to hide a yawn behind his hand. "Couldn't sleep?" Lisa shook her head. "Not very well." Her father smiled kindly, and sat down in the chair opposite hers as she picked at her eggs with her fork. Her dad watched her for a few seconds, then began to speak softly. "I heard about your trip to the hospital yesterday."

Lisa glanced up at him before continuing to poke her eggs with her fork. "The police called?"

"Yeah. They mentioned it, right after they said something about getting a warrant to search your apartment." Joe Resiert watched his daughter carefully as she bit her lip, frowning at her eggs. "Why would they want to do that?" she asked, trying not to let her emotions get the best of her.

"They're looking for whatever evidence they can get at, Leese. At this point, they're not sure who did what." He smiled a little and patted her hand. "Look at it this way: if there's nothing to find there, then there's less of a case against you."

Lisa appreciated the gesture, but she still felt angry. "I just don't understand…I never thought for a second that Jackson might get off. And now, here I am, about to be arrested."

"Leese, no one's going to arrest you."

"Why wouldn't they? They all think I'm the one who did it, they've said so themselves."

"There's no evidence you had anything to do with the missile…"

"…but there's no evidence Jackson did anything either! And he didn't steal a car, mow down some guy, stab anyone, shoot anyone…"

"Leese." Her father's tone was firm, and Lisa finally turned away from her eggs and looked him straight in the eye. "Leese, this will all blow over. The police are smarter than you think. They'll find something, some clue that will point straight to Jackson. And then you're off the hook. Simple as that." He smiled at her reassuringly. Lisa tried her best to reciprocate his warm look, but doubt remained. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I wouldn't let anything bad happen to you." Lisa smiled a little more when he said that, but she knew that it was all just false comfort.

'_Too many bad things have already happened, Dad…_'

Joe Reisert got up and started to pour himself a cup of coffee. Lisa went back to picking at her eggs, until her father began to speak again. "So, how was he?"

Lisa smiled bitterly. "Jackson? He's still an asshole."

"Any chances that those shots we gave him will turn out to be fatal?"

"Nah, he seems to be in good health, unfortunately." She chuckled a little. "Though I don't think he's going to look at pens the same way ever again."

Her father let out a light laugh as well. As he sat back down in his chair, Lisa asked "Did the police say anything else when they called?"

Joe Reisert nodded. "They want me to come in for questioning at around noon. They want to know what I saw when Jackson came into the house."

Lisa nodded, then took a bite of her eggs. When she finished chewing, her father asked her, "Have any plans for the day?"

"I'm thinking of going to see the hotel this afternoon."

"Leese, do you really think it's a good idea to go back to work? You're obviously still not over this thing." Her father's concern for her was evident in his tone, and Lisa felt glad that throughout this whole ordeal, at least she had him.

"I'm not gonna go there to work. I just wanna check on everyone, make sure nothing else has blown up while I've been away."

Her father considered this for a second, then sighed. "Alright. Just…don't let them try and rush you back to work or anything." He smiled a little. "It's kind of nice having you around all day."

Lisa smiled back. Joe Resiert stood up, walked around the table, then kissed the top of her head.

"Don't worry too much about everything. It'll all turn out fine in the end."

--------------------------------------------

At about four that afternoon, Lisa found herself at the Lux Atlantic, feeling somewhat awkward not wearing her normal business attire. Unlike her usual apparel, she'd shown up in a more casual outfit to alert the staff right away that she wasn't here to work. She wanted them to know she was just there to check in on things, to make sure everything was fine.

As soon as she walked into the lobby, the first person she spotted was Cynthia, whose eyes widened when Lisa arrived. "Lisa?"

Lisa smiled at her. "Hey there."

Cynthia quickly made her way from behind the front desk, smiling. "Hey! What are you doing here? I didn't think you'd be coming back for awhile…" She pulled Lisa into a hug, which Lisa reciprocated warmly. "Oh, I'm not here for business, I just came to see how this place is holding up." She let go, smiling. "So, how is everything over here?"

"Well, no more missiles. That's always a plus." Cynthia giggled and Lisa couldn't help but laugh as well. "We're getting some contractors together to rebuild the wing of the hotel that was destroyed, so this place is a little busier than normal. Oh, and Bob and Mary Taylor haven't made a return appearance yet." Lisa couldn't help but notice how wide Cynthia grinned on that last statement. She could see Cynthia envisioning herself telling them to shove a comment card up their asses.

"Well, I suppose we'll have to mourn the loss of their patronage in silence. Why don't you show me how the construction's going?" Cynthia nodded, then called over one of the other hotel workers. "Kim? Can you cover me at the front desk for a little while?"

Kim nodded, and Cynthia turned to Lisa, grinning. "Shall we?"

--------------------------------------------

About an hour later, Cynthia and Lisa were sitting at the bar, chatting eagerly about the hotel. To her surprise and delight, Lisa was truly enjoying herself. The last time she'd felt relaxed was…well, the last time she and Cynthia had drinks in the bar. Except this time Lisa wasn't touching alcohol. Not after that incident in the police station.

Still, it felt so good to be doing something _normal_ for once. No feelings of worry or anxiety, just relaxing and chatting. It felt good to unwind for awhile.

The hotel was doing well, from what Cynthia had showed her. The builders had started fixing the wrecked part of the building, and it already started to look better than the gaping hole that had preceded it. Thankfully, the missile hadn't destroyed any of the building's foundation, or there would have been an insane mess to deal with.

Lisa and Cynthia were in the middle of a conversation when Kim from the front desk interrupted them, seeming very panicky. "I'm really sorry, but there's this woman that asked for a non-smoking room, but I guess someone put her in the smoking wing, because now she's all upset and we don't have any other rooms available…"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down Kim," Lisa said with the air of an expert. Kim took a deep breath, then started to speak more slowly. "I checked all our files, even the backups, and we don't have any non-smoking rooms available. Plus, she's _really_ pissed, and it looks like she's gonna have a meltdown in the lobby."

Lisa pushed out her chair, about to tackle the problem when Cynthia cut in. "What are you doing?"

"I'm just gonna go check out what the woman…"

"Oh, no you're not. You're on vacation." Cynthia smiled confidently. "I'll take care of it. You just wait here until I come back." And with that, Kim and Cynthia marched off to the lobby.

Lisa smiled. Cynthia was learning.

Lisa glanced over at the bartender as he poured one of the hotel guests a drink. In her mind, she tried to think if there would be much harm if she ordered a drink. She wouldn't get drunk this time…plus, the police were too busy searching her apartment and haranguing her father to come and get her for more questioning. So there was very little chance of another embarrassing incident at the police station…

Knowing full well that she had absolutely no willpower, Lisa scanned the drink menu. She felt in the mood for vodka…but no Baybreezes or Seabreezes. Or tequilas, for that matter. All three of them had gotten her into enough trouble.

"Um…can I have a Bloody Mary, please?" she asked the barkeeper politely. He nodded, and in a few seconds, Lisa was sipping at it merrily. '_Not bad_' she thought, and she began to muse to herself as she drank.

She remembered being about 10 years old and hearing a rumor that, if you drank your parent's Bloody Mary, you'd find yourself in front of a mirror at midnight. You'd have to walk around in a circle three times, chanting 'Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary'. Then Bloody Mary would appear in the mirror, and you'd be sent straight to hell, screaming and wailing.

Lisa smiled a little. Kids found such interesting ways to scare themselves. She hadn't even known who Bloody Mary was, but the rumor had still kept her up at night for almost a week. Her father had kept checking on her at night, telling her "It's just a story, Leese. Nothing bad's gonna happen to you." Eventually, the kids a school had moved on to other things, and the story scared Lisa less and less. But the thought of standing in front of a mirror at midnight had frightened her for years to come.

If only the scariest thing Lisa had to deal with was Bloody Mary…

Lisa shook that thought out of her head. This was no time to feel depressed. She was having a good time being here. More so than she had for the last two weeks. Who knew? Maybe she'd feel better if she started going back to work again. At least then, she'd have something to distract her, and she would have more to do then just mope around the house all day. Maybe she'd just start off slower, working a few hours less a week than usual…that way, her dad could see her more often, and the other hotel workers wouldn't have to nag her so much about taking a break every now and then.

That sounded like a good idea, actually.

Lisa felt a bit better as she took another sip of her Bloody Mary. She'd have to try these more often. Her drink tasted really good. She'd never fancied herself a tomato juice fan before.

Hmm, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary…wasn't there a song called 'Bloody Mary'?

'_Bloody Mary is the girl I love…'_ Lisa smiled. Now she remembered it. It was from a movie she'd seen with her dad once. She couldn't remember much about it, but she remembered the song. Lisa started to drum her fingers on the counter, singing it quietly to herself.

"_Bloody Mary is the girl I love_

_Bloody Mary is the girl I love_

_Bloody Mary is the girl I love…"_

"…_now ain't that too damn bad?"_ Lisa froze as a masculine voice from to her left sang the next line of the song. She turned her head to see who it was, hoping against hope that it wasn't who she thought it was.

As soon as she did, the barkeeper smiled. "South Pacific, right?"

Taken back slightly, Lisa nodded. The barkeeper grinned toothily. "Good movie. Good play, too."

Again, Lisa nodded, then turned back to her drink, feeling somewhat foolish. Just because she heard a man's voice didn't mean it was necessarily Jackson. She'd been singing a song, and the barkeeper just happened to know it. It really wasn't something to get so jumpy about.

Just to reassure herself, Lisa glanced down at her purse. Quietly, she unzipped it, and felt calmer once she saw her father's pistol nestled there. Even if Jackson were here, she'd be able to take him on.

Lisa gathered her purse, then pulled some money out of it to pay for her drink. She figured she'd go out to the lobby and find Cynthia, rather than sit there and get herself all worked up over nothing.

Just then, she thought she saw someone familiar standing on the other side of the bar.

She blinked, then peered towards one of the darker corners of the room. There was a man sitting at one of the tables, sipping something. She thought it might have been Jackson's head, but she couldn't be sure. His head was turned away from hers, and she couldn't see him very well…

As though he read her thoughts, Jackson turned his head towards her, then smirked. She watched him lift his drink as though toasting to her, then he drank it all down in one gulp. Lisa recognized it. He was drinking a Seabreeze.

Bastard.

Calmly, he stood up from the table, putting down his glass and quietly making his way towards the back door, as though he were heading out for a cigarette. Lisa, enraged by his mere presence, slapped some money down on the counter for her drink. As soon as she did, she quickly made her way towards the back door, still swinging in Jackson's wake. As she did so, she rummaged through her purse for the comforting presence of the gun.

As soon as Lisa entered the alley, she stepped out a few feet, glancing wildly in all directions to see where he was. There was a faint smell of cigarette smoke lingering in the air from all the patrons who had ever taken a quick puff outside the hotel. The ground was littered with beer bottles and cigarette stubs, along with all manner of food wrappers.

Twenty feet away, Jackson stood calmly, as though expecting her. He stood in the shadows of the alley, and Lisa had a difficult time seeing his face. The only things she could see clearly were his blue eyes, staring at her coldly. "Knock-knock."

Lisa, already angry, merely growled, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Jackson pouted and made a tsk-tsk noise. "Now, honestly, Leese. That's not how the joke goes at all. I say 'Knock-knock', and you say 'Who's there?'"

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"…then I say 'Jackson'! And you say 'Jackson, who?' And then I say, 'Jackson Ripner!' And then you laugh and laugh and laugh, right before I riddle you with bullets as I listen to your dying wails of agony." Jackson smirked. "Didn't you ever hear knock-knock jokes as a kid, Leese?"

Lisa, not particularly giving a damn what the hell he was talking about, greeted him with a smirk of her own. "Really now? Because I thought that _I_ was the one who riddled _you_ with the bullets." When Jackson's face refused to let any flicker of real emotion through, Lisa tilted her head and asked sweetly, "How was your hospital stay, _Jack_?"

Jackson refused to let her affect him. Rather, he responded with a sickly sweet smile of his own. "Oh, they let me out early for good behavior. Saying 'please' to the nurses can get you very far." Jackson pressed two fingers to his throat. "The nurses seemed very sympathetic about the pen wound. Always going on about what a rotten little bitch that Lisa Reisert must be." He shrugged casually, as though to say 'What can you do?'

Lisa seethed. "What are you doing here? Why are you following me?"

The smirk on Jackson's face slowly faded, and was replaced by a cold, stony look that reeked of repressed anger and condescending attitude. "Well, Leese, I'd have thought a smart girl like you could figure out something as simple as that." He smiled almost playfully. "I'm here to finish the job."

Lisa stood there, somewhat bewildered, but determined not to let Jackson see her confusion. "The _job_? What job? The Keefes are perfectly safe, from what I've heard. Their security's been increased a hundred times more, and they're in some undisclosed location until this whole thing blows over."

Jackson cocked an eyebrow. "Well, Lisa, haven't you read the newspaper word-for-word. But no."

Lisa frowned. "No, what?"

"No, as in, the Keefes are not in an undisclosed location, they're merely in a very nice little villa in South America, where two _very_ unfriendly people are posing as members of their security detail. And, no, I'm not here to finish that particular part of the job. I get the fun assignment. My job is to make you disappear."

Lisa paled. Was he serious, or was he just trying to mess with her head again? Lisa took a good look at him and decided that Jackson probably meant what he was saying, and it frightened her. "You…you can't kill me here. We're right outside the hotel. Someone would notice…"

Jackson chuckled cruelly. "Kill you? No, at this point, it's unnecessary. I simply get to tarnish your reputation, drive you to the brink of insanity, then make sure the cops arrest you so that all of the blame for this little Keefe incident will fall on you."

Lisa frowned a little. "And how exactly would you be able to do that? I'm no terrorist. There's no evidence that I actually had anything to do with the missile, just that I did all those things after the flight."

Jackson laughed once again, and Lisa could feel her blood boil; partly, she was angry, but his constantly condescending attitude was making her feel frustrated. "And what exactly is so funny this time?"

Jackson merely smiled. "Honestly, Leese, you've had nothing to do for the last two weeks but think about that damn flight, but you haven't realized anything yet, have you? You haven't had work or anything for two _weeks_, but a smart girl like you couldn't figure out what might be going on?"

Lisa stared at him for a few seconds, and she was about to come up with a retort when she realized something. "How do you know that I haven't been to work?"

Again, the condescending smile. "Guess."

Lisa felt a sense of panic begin to well up in her, and her voice trembled a little. "You've been following me again. You must've been watching me…"

"Now, Leese, honestly. I've been in a hospital ward for the last two weeks. I haven't been able to leave that building until this morning. How on earth would I have been able to follow you?"

Lisa considered this, and arrived at the answer fairly easily. "Your company. They've been sending people to watch me, haven't they?"

"Exactly. Apparently, the Russians are pissed that their little missile scheme didn't go as planned, and my employers have been trying to calm them as best they can. And the number one way to calm them down right now is to make sure no one believes a word you're saying."

Lisa glared. "You still haven't told me how exactly you're going to magically prove to the police that I'm some sort of terrorist."

As Jackson continued to smirk, he played with a beer bottle on the ground with his foot by rolling it back and forth with his heel. "Well, let's see: the police finally got the warrant to search your apartment, what, last night? And let's also assume that they've been doing a lot of searching inside there…"

"They're not going to find anything. You know that I haven't got anything remotely suspicious in there."

Jackson cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, really?" 

Lisa blinked. "What?" The look on Jackson's face reeked of utter glee upon hearing this, and it seemed as though he could barely hold in his delight at her ignorance.

"Honestly, Leese, you seem to think that I haven't taken any kinds of precautions with this job. You knew that I already used an alias, didn't you figure out that I may have taken other measures to make sure that all of the blame would fall on you?"

Lisa furrowed her brow. "Like what?"

"Let's see, _Leese_, you've been staying at your father's house for the last two weeks. Before that, you spent about three days in Texas with dear old mom's family. So, for the last two and a half weeks, you haven't set foot inside your apartment even once. So, of course, it would be _impossible_ for, say, a group of men, knowing full well that they were going to try and assassinate the Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security, to litter your apartment with suspicious materials. And it would be _impossible _for some of those materials to link you to a rather infamous terrorist organization."

Lisa stared at him, not wanting to believe what he was saying. "You…you put…"

"When the police go into your apartment, they're going to find a lot of books about all sorts of bad people. They're going to find biographies of Lee Harvey Oswald, John Wilkes Booth, Charles Manson, and all sorts of people who got famous by killing someone really important. It'll make them suspicious, but nothing too damning. Then they're going to find some of your emails that have been saved on your computer. Mostly, they seem to be work exchanges and conversations with someone named 'Sal'. Sal's emails seem to be asking you if you're ready for some sort of 'job' that's going to be happening, while prepping you the whole time, saying 'You only have to do one little thing'. Then they find your diary…"

Lisa, willing to jump on any flaw in his logic, stated rather blandly "I don't have a diary…"

Jackson shrugged, undeterred. "Well, you do now. And that diary says things like 'I hate being alone' or 'I hate being just another face in a crowd', odd things like that. Talks a lot about wanting to 'be somebody', while making vague references to cravings for alcohol. Then the diary talks about meeting some guy named Sal at a bar, and he seems to know exactly what you're talking about, and has a way to solve it. So you listen to him, and he wants you to get involved in one of the jobs he's about to do. Well, you agree, and you're all in for it until you realize that you've gotten in _waaaaay_ over your head. You start to panic, and you wonder if maybe you can bail out. But Sal says no: you're already in too deep, and you've only got one little assignment, anyway. So you agree, but you still seem nervous about the whole damn thing.

In the minds of the police, it'll all works out perfectly: you decide to get in on the Keefe assassination because of a girlish crush and a desire to be famous. Your one 'little assignment' is to switch the Keefes' hotel room on the plane, where you'll have an alibi. But afterwards you panic, and call back the hotel, telling them to get the Keefes out of there immediately. And it'll all make sense to the police; even though they had their suspicions of you before, they had no real evidence that you were a terrorist, just that you were a drunk who rammed someone with an SUV. But now that they have proof, written in your own hand, and it's going to be all too easy to pin the blame on you."

Jackson rolled up his sleeve, and checked his watch. "By now, they're probably at your father's house, waiting to arrest you."

Lisa tried to figure out something, _anything _to say to him to prove he was wrong. However, her mouth and her mind failed her. She just stood there, not knowing what to say or do, as hot tears of anger welled up in her eyes.

"Everyone who knows me will say that I'm not a terrorist. They all know I'm not like that…"

"Who's 'they', Leese? Your father? The police aren't going to take into account his opinion when all they see him as is an overly protective daddy. Your coworkers aren't going to hold much swaying power, especially since the only one who'd really defend you would be Cynthia. And your friends…well, you seem to be a little lacking in that area, don't you, Leese?"

Jackson smiled, and through the darkness of the alleyway, Lisa could see the way his cold eyes gleamed malevolently. "Honestly, Leese, did you think you were the first to fight back? Did you think you were the first hostage to ever get it into their head to try and get away? Any worthy assassin knows to prepare in case of failure. While you were in Texas, weeping over dear old Granny, I was inside your apartment, littering your room with all sorts of evidence for the police to pick up. I knew how to make the police blame you if push came to shove, and that seems to be _exactly_ how it's worked out." Jackson's grin widened, and Lisa could feel the angry tears flowing over her cheeks. "Though I have to say, I never expected it to be this easy. Stabbing me, running him over with the stolen SUV…I didn't think you'd participate so much in your own downfall."

Jackson checked his watch once again. "The police will probably come here next if you don't show up eventually at your house."

Lisa felt hot, angry tears run down her face as she realized just how much she hated the man standing in front of her. Without hesitation, she reached into her purse, pulled out her father's pistol, and took aim at the man who was ruining her life.

Jackson, for his part, just stood there, smirking as always. "You want to shoot me, Lisa?"

"Yes. I'll make another set of bullet holes to match the first two."

Jack just stood there, smiling. "Well, then, shoot me already, if you're so eager. After all, I doubt that there might be any consequences…"

"Consequences? Like what, getting arrested? Too late! The cops are already after me because of you!"

Jackson's expression still didn't waver, frustrating Lisa all the more. "No, I mean the more dangerous consequences, like upsetting that poor woman in the lobby, waiting for Cynthia to take her to her non-smoking room, where she'll be able to gun her down if anything doesn't go according to plan."

Lisa's eyes widened a little, but she tried her best to hold her ground. "You're making this up…she couldn't be…"

"Leese, that woman is prepared to take out as many of your coworkers as necessary, and all it takes for her to do that is a phone call from my higher-ups that I never made it back alive."

Lisa bit her lip, not knowing what to say or what to think. "You're…you're lying, it's not true…"

"Leese, didn't I tell you once that I've never lied to you?"

Lisa laughed bitterly. "Yeah, well, that turned out to be a load of horseshit, didn't it? What did that officer say your real name was? Oh, yeah, _Jim Crane_, wasn't it?"

Jackson shrugged casually, still using his foot to play with the beer bottle. "Who knows what my real name is? Maybe I'm really Jackson Ripner, a high-profile assassin. Maybe I'm really Jim Crane, some geek from Tallahassee who decided to start working for more important people than his little dot-com buddies. Or maybe I'm neither. Maybe I'm both. The trouble is, Lisa, that you don't know. All that you do know is that if you're wrong, Cynthia dies."

Lisa wanted so badly to say something, _anything_ to prove him wrong, but she knew that she had already used up her verbal ammo. Jackson's eyes gleamed with triumph. "Face it, Leese. I've been one step ahead of you this whole time. The incident with the pen may have gained you a small victory, but in the end, I will win this."

Lisa, still feeling the tears stream down her cheeks, stood there a minute before lowering the gun. Still trying to appear confident, despite the circumstances, she asked him shakily, "Why are you here?"

"Well, doesn't that question sound familiar, Leese? But when I asked you at the hospital, you never gave an answer, did you?"

"Why the hell did you come here?"

Jackson looked up from the beer bottle he'd been toying with his foot, and gave Lisa a grin that would make the Cheshire Cat envious. "Well, there's probably a good number of possibilities. I could be on assignment to follow you again. I could have come here to do something to your hotel, only to incidentally find you here. I could be examining the wreckage of a failed assignment. Or…this could all be one, big, beautiful set-up for you."

Jackson leaned down and picked up the bottle that he had been amusing himself with for the last few minutes. Lisa frowned, wondering what on earth he was doing as he held the bottle in his right hand, his right hand clenched around the bottle's neck.

"See, here's the thing, Leese. I've gotten the police to think you're a drunk, but I haven't quite proven yet how _violent_ you can be while drunk." Jackson turned and looked at the nearest wall of the alley, still speaking casually. "For example, Leese…" Jackson started walking towards his left, to one of the alley's walls. "If this _were_, say, some sort of set-up, then what I might do is, say, remove all doubts about your crazy, alcoholic nature. After all, you've just had a drink. You might not have the same sort of judgment you did. And that's when you see a familiar face, from the flight two weeks ago." Jackson glanced down at the beer bottle in his hand, now that he stood about two feet from the wall. "And you follow him outside. The bartender will have noticed that the girl singing showtunes has made her way outside, and seems to be following some guy."

With that, Jackson took the beer bottle, then smashed it against the wall. Glass fragments littered the ground and Jackson looked at the severed remains of the bottle. When he saw that only the jagged remains of the neck and part of the body remained, he grinned, satisfied. "So what do you think would happen, if, say, the police show up, looking for you so they can arrest you, and they find a man there. And that man just happened to be someone they recognized; say, someone they had to question not very long ago because he was involved in a high-profile assassination case. And he's bleeding all over, and when the cops ask him who did it, he mentions the name of the woman they had come to arrest. Now, wouldn't that look really bad for her? Wouldn't that help the cops make more of a case against her, do you think? Wouldn't that just _prove_ that, when this woman has alcohol in her system, she can get awfully dangerous?" Jackson smiled as he made his way back towards the center of the alley. "Well, do you think so?"

Lisa raised her gun again, knowing full well that she wasn't going to scare him. "Put it down! Put it down or I'll kill you right here!"

Jackson's expression didn't waver, and Lisa couldn't help but expect it not to. "We both know you won't, Leese. After all, poor little Cynthia is still inside."

Jackson pulled his arm back for a second, but he paused as the sound of a police siren steadily increased in volume, and Lisa realized that they must be coming for her at the hotel. Jackson chuckled. "You might want to start running, Leese." And with that, he took the shattered beer bottle and brought it down on himself, glass shards and drops of blood flying. As soon as he did, Lisa ran past him as fast as she could, out of the alley and into the next street, her head pounding.

Where would she go? The police would already be at her apartment and her dad's house, and they were making their way towards the hotel as it was. Lisa's heart pounded as she thought of somewhere to go. Her car…if she could just get to her car, she could drive somewhere…

Jackson's face flashed in her mind. Her blood boiled, knowing that he was going to tell the police that she had attacked him. It would incriminate her perfectly, combined with the evidence in her apartment. And Jackson knew it, too.

If only she'd been able to _shoot_ him…

Lisa glanced down at the pistol, still in her hand. She knew he probably wasn't kidding about what would have happened to Cynthia. As good as it would have been to shoot him, she wasn't about to drag Cynthia into their affairs.

Lisa spotted her car, parked about a block away from the hotel. Thankfully, the hotel parking lot had been crowded when she'd arrived. Now, all she needed to do was get in the car, and start driving somewhere, _anywhere_ where the police wouldn't find her.

As soon as she got within five feet of the car, however, a man in a police uniform stood up where he had been crouching behind the car. He pulled out a gun and aimed it directly at Lisa's forehead. "Freeze!"

Lisa, taken aback, stood frozen as the officer made his way towards her. "Lisa Reisert, you are under arrest for the following charges: assault, battery, grand theft auto…"

Lisa sighed tiredly, mentally smacking herself. Of course they would have had someone posted at her car. As the officer read off the charges, Lisa didn't even bother to respond. She just resigned herself to what was happening, knowing that there was no point in fighting anymore.

The cop motioned for her to turn around, and Lisa obeyed meekly. She heard the clinking of what she assumed were handcuffs as the cop grabbed her hands. She waited for the inevitable clamps of metal around her wrists, right before he led her to the awaiting police car.

Instead, Lisa felt a sharp jab to the back of her head as a pistol butt was brought to the back of her head, and within a half a second she was out cold.

--------------------------------------------

When Lisa finally opened her eyes again, she dimly saw that she was some sort of dark room. And she was…moving. As her head cleared, Lisa realized that she was in the back of a truck, lying in between stacks of large cardboard boxes. As she tried to sit up, she realized that he hands had been tightly behind her back, and her legs had been tied up as well.

"So, Sleeping Beauty has awakened at last."

Lisa turned her head to see a tall man standing in front of her. He seemed to be in his late forties, and had dark hair slicked back on his head. He had dark, gleaming eyes, and a tiny goatee on his chin. He wore a business suit, and would have seemed like an ordinary businessman if it hadn't been for an almost malevolent look about him.

Lisa fumbled for words, having trouble thinking because she wasn't fully awake yet.

"…you're not the police…"

"Ah, so you've figured as much. Correct, I am not the police. You should be grateful for that much."

Lisa tried to concentrate. What was going on? Who was this man? "Where are we?"

"Right now, we're heading about thirty miles an hour towards Tallahassee." The man put on a condescending smile. "But I suppose you really want to know why we're going there. You'll learn, but not now. Can't have you panicking quite yet." The man made move as though he were about to leave, then turned to Lisa. "I almost forgot. You might want to say hello to our other guest for the evening. I'm afraid he's little worse for the wear, but you should recognize him just fine. He's right behind you."

Before he left, the man pulled out a rather large gun and waved it in front of Lisa's face. "I don't think I need to tell you not to try and call for help." With that, he made his way to the front of the truck.

Lisa lay there, confused. Who was this man? Why would he try and kidnap her? Lisa frowned. He must be one of Jackson's coworkers. Who else would have enough of a grudge against her to do something like this?

Lisa tried to shift over to see who it was that was lying behind her, wondering who else these men would hate enough to kidnap as well. Although her bound arms and legs made it difficult, Lisa managed to turn herself over after a few tries. When she saw who it was, Lisa's eyes widened.

His shoulder was slashed to ribbons, and dried blood seemed almost plastered to his skin. His eye was bruised, and blood was trickling out of his mouth and nose. He, too, had his hands and feet tied together, but he also had a gag. He appeared to be unconscious, and Lisa couldn't help but wonder what kind of fight Jackson Ripner had put up before they'd dumped him behind her.


	5. The House That Jack Built

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Disclaimer: I don't own 'Red Eye' at all. If you honestly think that I do, please contact me. I have a great way for you to invest some of your money.

By the way, this chapter was written while I was under the influence of a strep throat, so blame my meds if it ends up going badly. Also, I have no idea if there are any caves in Tallahassee.

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For anybody who didn't see the note in Chapter 1, my story got taken down because of a TOS violation. So now I have reposted everything, minus all the reviewer responses. Sorry to scare everyone over that, but I wasn't even allowed to repost until two days ago. Anyway, the next chapter will be out as soon as I actually have time to _stop working_. Gyah…

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"This is the farmer sowing the corn,

That kept the cock that crowed in the morn,

That waked the priest all shaven and shorn,

That married the man all tattered and torn,

That kissed the maiden all forlorn,

That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,

That tossed the dog

That worried the cat

That killed the rat

That ate the malt

That lay in the house that Jack built."

-"The House That Jack Built"

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Lisa had been riding in the back of the truck for what seemed like hours. Did it really take this long to get to Tallahassee, if that was even where they were going? And for that matter, why on earth were they going to Tallahassee in the first place?

Lisa glanced down at Jackson. He was still unconscious, even though they must have been on the road for quite awhile by now. Lisa looked over his various cuts and bruises, wondering how in the hell he'd managed to get all of them. She figured the bloody shoulder came from the incident with the beer bottle, and the rest most have been from the people who'd ended up kidnapping him. Lisa figured that all the cuts and bruises would probably end up being rather painful once he regained consciousness.

'_Serves him right, bastard._'

A sudden bump in the road jolted Lisa against one of the large cardboard boxes, and she hit her head painfully. Lisa gritted her teeth, hissing from the sting. Getting hit by the butt of the gun had made her head extremely sore, and she could barely move her neck without sending jolts of pain coursing throughout her skull.

Lisa tried her best to look towards the front of the truck without moving her head. The man who had been there when she'd woken up had been there ever since he'd spoken to her. She'd heard him talking to the driver in muffled tones for awhile, but they'd been quiet ever since.

Lisa frowned. Who was that man? She'd thought that he must have been one of Jackson's associates, but then why kidnap Jackson as well? Maybe he worked for whoever had ordered the missile to hit the hotel. It would explain why he'd come after both of them, but she still didn't know what he wanted from them. If he wanted them dead, he could have just killed them outright. Why drag them to Tallahassee?

These questions were put out of her mind by a muffled moaning noise, and Lisa looked down to see that Jackson seemed to be stirring. His eyes fluttered open for a few seconds, then sprung wide open once he realized where he was.

Lisa merely regarded him cautiously. "Morning, starshine."

Jackson bolted up where he sat, then flinched in pain as soon as he did. Lisa figured he must've gotten hit pretty hard across the back of the head as well. Jackson writhed around, trying to stand up before he realized that his feet had been bound. He seemed even more upset to discover a gag around his mouth and a pair of handcuffs linking his wrists together in front of him.

"Ah, so Prince Charming has awakened as well."

Lisa turned her head (painfully) to see the man from before standing over them, a calm, eerie smile playing across his lips.

"Well, well, well, isn't this perfect? Little Jack Horner has finally awakened. And just in time, too. We were going to have to wake you in a minute or two anyway, so this works out most conveniently." The man looked down at the two of them, a small smile playing across his lips. Lisa looked over at Jack, who was staring at the man with an intense hatred in his eyes. The man, for his part, seemed not to notice.

"What's wrong now? No clever remark, no witty retort? Honestly, Jackson, you insult me. And here I was expecting more from you." The man continued to smile as Jackson gave a muffled response through the gag. Lisa wasn't sure, but she thought he had said 'Fuck you'.

The truck began to slow, and then it came to a full stop. The man glanced towards the front and grinned. "Well, it seems we have arrived." He paused and smiled a little. "I don't think I need to remind you what will happen if either of you don't cooperate." That being said, he made his way back to the front, and began speaking in hushed tones with the driver. Lisa frowned slightly. Something about that man seemed familiar. His face was unknown to her, but there was something about the way he spoke that Lisa recognized.

Meanwhile, the back doors of the truck flew open, and two men carrying semi-automatics climbed inside. Lisa dully wondered if they'd arrived in a different car.

One man stood above Lisa, his gun aimed straight at her head, while the other man did the same for Jackson. The man standing above Lisa began to speak to her with the air of an authority, as though she were a child who'd broken a rule at the playground. "I'm going to untie your legs now. If you try anything, I will have absolutely no problem shooting you on the spot. Do you understand?" Lisa nodded weakly, and the man looked over at Jackson. "Same goes for you." Jackson merely rolled his eyes.

Once her feet were untied, Lisa realized just how stiff her legs had been, and she had some trouble standing up. She leaned her shoulder against the stack of boxes for support, and stood up weakly before attempting to walk. Jackson seemed to be having even more trouble, since he seemed to be putting too much weight on his right leg for some reason. Lisa didn't quite understand why, until Jackson started limping out of the truck. It was then that she noticed a blood stain on the fringe of Jackson's pant leg, and Lisa figured that he must have been injured in the calf or the ankle somehow.

As she exited the truck, guns pointed at her head the whole time, Lisa was surprised to see that it was still dark outside. But that made sense: it had only been about 6:30 in the evening when she'd been in the alley with Jackson. It was probably pretty late by now.

Lisa looked around, and saw that there were a two other cars parked next to the truck. Not only that, but there were a few scattered people standing around, chatting with each other. Upon spotting Lisa and Jackson, one of them turned to the rest and made some sort of clever remark, causing the rest to chuckle. Lisa frowned. Why were all these people here? What exactly was going on?

The men led them into what seemed to be a suburban house. It seemed strangely out of place, since there weren't any other houses to be seen nearby. As they walked through the doors, Lisa noticed that there seemed to be absolutely _nothing_ inside the house. Not a chair, not a table, not even a stray piece of paper littering the ground. In that case, Lisa wondered what the point was. Why were they being taken into a completely empty house?

The men led Jackson and Lisa down a flight of stairs to a dank, empty basement. Lisa tried to peer around, but there was absolutely nothing to see. There didn't seem to be any lights or any windows, and the whole room was pitch black. The only light came from the doorway leading to the stairs.

Once they reached the end of the staircase, the men led Lisa and Jackson to the other side of the room, where it was harder to see. One of the men grabbed Lisa roughly by the shoulders and shoved her to the ground, and she let out a small cry upon hitting the floor. Judging by the thud she heard a second later, Lisa figured that they had done the same thing to Jackson.

The man began retying Lisa's ankles together, using tight, complicated knots. Lisa obeyed without a word, and was surprised to notice that Jackson didn't seem to be putting up much of fight when the other man began to retie his ankles as well. Then again, maybe he figured he'd earned enough bruises for one day.

When the two men were done, they walked quietly back to the stairs without even a word to their captives. Once they had disappeared up the flight of stairs, they shut the door, closing off the only light source they had. Lisa glanced around her, and could see nothing but pitch black, and part of her felt frightened by the smothering darkness.

After the men had left, Lisa could hear the sound of muffled grunting coming from her left. Jackson had been left about ten feet away from her, and Lisa wondered what the hell he was doing over there. After a few minutes, the noise stopped, and Lisa dimly thought that he must have given up.

That was before she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She nearly cried out, but Jackson clapped a hand over her mouth before she even had the chance. Lisa's eyes widened and her first instinct was to struggle against his grip, but Jackson held onto her firmly. Quiet enough that Lisa could barely hear him, Jackson hissed at her, "Don't you _dare_ scream. Not if you want to make it out of here alive. Do you understand?" Lisa dully wondered how he'd gotten rid of the gag.

His tone was dead serious, without a hint of condescension or humor. If Lisa hadn't known better, she would have thought that Jackson sounded…rattled, in a way. But that was too out of character for him: Lisa always thought of Jackson as too collected to ever be shaken by anything. Slowly, she nodded, and Jackson removed his hand from her face.

Lisa heard some shuffling, and the next thing she noticed was Jackson breathing down her neck. Lisa was about to protest, but that was before she felt his knuckles hitting against her wrists as the knots around her hands began to loosen. Lisa realized he was untying her, and before long, she could feel his knuckles working around her feet.

Once her feet were free, Lisa opened her mouth to speak, but Jackson silenced her. He hissed quietly to her again. "Don't say a word. I don't care _what_ you have to say, just don't say anything yet. Alright?"

Again with the almost panicked tone. Lisa nodded, though she wondered if Jackson could tell in the thick darkness. Perhaps taking her silence as the affirmative, Jackson grabbed Lisa's wrist and began leading her to another part of the room, and Lisa dimly realized that he must've untied his ankles somehow.

After about a minute, Jackson stopped walking and let go of Lisa's wrist. Lisa heard some light tapping noises coming from a few feet away, and after a few seconds the tapping sounded more hollow. After a few of these hollow taps, Lisa heard a shifting noise, and suddenly she could see Jackson's silhouette against a tall, dimly lit opening. Lisa realized that Jackson was holding a panel from the wall in his hands, and the opening led to some sort of tunnel or cave. Lisa's eyes widened, and she looked over at Jackson. He merely gestured for Lisa to step into the opening, a hint of urgency in his eyes.

Lisa hesitated, then walked into the opening cautiously. It was about six feet tall, so she fit inside fairly well. Jackson followed her inside, closing the wall panel firmly over the opening behind him. Now that they were out of the basement, Lisa started to speak. "What the hell-"

"Shh!" Jackson's hand found it's way over her mouth once again, and Lisa felt slightly irritated. "Not now. Once we're further away, alright?" Lisa nodded, and Jackson sighed at let her go. Lisa noted that he seemed to be irritated with her as well.

They seemed to be in some sort of a cave, with the only light coming from a wide opening in the far distance. Lisa could hear her footsteps echoing off of the cavern walls, along with Jackson's heavy limping from behind. In her head, Lisa marveled at the cave while wondering why anyone would make a passage to it from their basement.

After a while, Lisa could see the cavern opening coming closer and closer in her field of vision. She made her way toward it eagerly, with Jackson behind her the whole time. As soon as they reached it, Lisa glanced around fervently, curious to see where exactly the journey had led them.

The cave led out to a woodland area, and right next to the opening was a run-down SUV. The trunk of the car seemed to be packed with items, and Lisa peered at it. It almost seemed like the sort of trunk someone would have had while preparing for Y2K, with bottled and canned food items lining the bottom, along with a sizeable amount of batteries. The interior of the car seemed bare and neat, providing an odd contrast. She turned to Jackson, who was looking around in an almost business-like manner.

Jackson noticed Lisa watching him and he sighed. "You can talk now, if that's what you're wondering."

Lisa shrugged. "It wasn't. But now that I _can _talk…"

Jackson rolled his eyes. "Here we go…"

Lisa ignored him, and continued her spiel. "What in the _hell _is going on? And where are we?"

"You know, I'd have thought you'd be more grateful, considering I've essentially saved your life."

Lisa blinked, not quite comprehending what he said. "What?"

Jackson cocked an eyebrow. "You didn't figure that out?" Lisa noted that some of the old condescension remained in his voice, but for the most part, he just seemed irritated. "What did you think, that they just knocked you out and tied you up for kicks?"

Upon hearing that, Lisa tried to appear angry, although his words had really only made her anxious. The thought of being murdered rattled her, but she didn't want Jackson to see that. "Well, how am I supposed to know what's going on? I don't know where we are, I don't know why I'm here, I don't know why _you're _here, and I don't know who these people are that came and got us." She eyed Jackson for a second. "Though you seemed to know them pretty well."

Jackson sighed. He glanced at the cavern that they had just come through, then looked at Lisa. "The man from the back of the truck is my boss. Or, rather, he _was_ my boss."

Lisa blinked. "Your _boss_? But why would he…"

"…want me dead? Simple, Leese: that's the price for failure in my business. I ought to know, I've carried out enough failure sentences to realize that. And, by the way, it's _always_ the price for screwing up a job, even if you aren't an employee. Hence your presence, Leese."

Lisa frowned a little. "If that's the case, then why aren't we dead yet? Why kidnap us and drive us around for hours first?"

"Because they don't want anything to seem suspicious. If the two of us wind up dead, then there'll be a major investigation, considering our involvement in the Keefe case. They don't want it to look like they had any hand in our deaths, so they'll set it up so that nothing looks fishy. That's why they drove us out to Tallahassee, where Jim Crane supposedly lives."

Lisa thought to herself, remembering what the investigator had told her after she'd been questioned. What had he said?

_'From what we know, he's some sort of loner from near Tallahassee…'_

Well, the police got that much right.

Lisa continued her questioning, somewhat calmer now that she had a basic grasp of the situation. "Then what's this…place? Why is there a cavern leading out of the back of the house?"

Jackson seemed to smile a little, but not at Lisa. "Jim Crane was an ardent comic book fan, and when he built the house, he was thrilled at the idea of having his very own hidden Batcave, so he had the house built right on top of it. He kept the panel in the basement a secret for his own amusement." A pause. "Not that he really had anyone to tell about it, anyway."

Lisa was slightly confused. Why did Jackson keep referring to Crane in third person? Did that mean that he was a real person, and not just some alias Jackson had used? Lisa considered asking Jackson, but decided against it, given his current state of annoyance.

Jackson looked back at the car. "But the cavern is also a useful to me, since this is where I keep my backup plan." He indicated the car. His smile faded, and he looked back at Lisa, seeming somewhat calmer than when they'd first set out. "When you have a job where you're constantly facing life or death, it's generally a good idea to have several routes of escape in case of an emergency."

"And does that work?"

"Rarely." Jackson noted the worried look on Lisa's face. "Better a slim-to-none chance than no chance at all, Leese."

Lisa could feel some panic beginning to swell inside her. The whole thing seemed insanely bizarre. It seemed like a setup from the movies: the heroine is chased by the evil gang of killers, before she recovers the crystal that will save the Martians from the Tralfamadorians. Even if she tried to pretend none of it was real, she knew there was no point in denying it. Here she was with a man who'd tried to kill her and who she'd tried to kill, and he was telling her that, in all likelihood, they were going to die.

Lisa shivered a little. Jackson looked over at her coldly, obviously not feeling very sympathetic. He sighed out of frustration.

"Lisa, listen to me. Just pull yourself together _five minutes_, alright?" Lisa looked up at him and nodded, trying her best to quell her panic in front of the man she hated. Jackson continued talking, using the same tone he had used with her on the plane.

"Considering the way that this situation has unfortunately unfolded, we're going to have to get out of here as soon as is humanly possible. They probably haven't noticed we're gone yet, since it's going to take them a few hours to set everything up."

Lisa opened her mouth to ask him '_Set up what?'_, but the cold look he gave her made her keep quiet. Jackson continued as though nothing had happened.

"Here's the part that I know you're going to hate, and, let's face it, I'm not exactly thrilled either. But, given the circumstances…" Jackson sighed, obviously frustrated by something, though Lisa couldn't guess what.

"What?"

"…I'm going to need help getting out of here."

Lisa blinked, not quite sure she heard him correctly. "What!"

"Don't get too excited, Leese. As it is, you're going to need my help as well. All in all, a fair deal."

Lisa was still having trouble comprehending this. He had to be kidding. "You're not serious…"

"Leese, if I didn't think it was absolutely necessary to bring you along with me, do you think I would have bothered to untie you and bring you here?"

Lisa considered this, and she had to concede that he was correct. "No."

"Exactly." Jackson clutched his shoulder, wincing slightly, and Lisa couldn't help but take some childish pleasure in the pain he was getting from having set her up. "My point is, neither of us is going to make it very far without some help."

Lisa cocked an eyebrow and smirked, mimicking Jackson's usual condescending expression. "And why do I have to help you?"

Jackson, undeterred, merely reciprocated Lisa's look. "You're a fugitive, remember? Which reminds me: the police alerted the media about their little runaway murderess, so your face was plastered all over the evening news last night. If you show your face in public, it's only a matter of time before someone recognizes you from your photo on the front-page news."

Lisa's temper boiled, and she had the strong urge to reach out and slap him across the face. However, she resisted that particular impulse, remembering the marks on her arm from the last time she'd tried to hit him. "If I'm in jail, then at least I'm safe from your buddies back there."

Jackson laughed a little. "You try and tell them that. I'm sure they'll be very convinced, right before they blow your brains out."

Lisa seethed, and she hated Jackson for being such a damn asshole. But, assuming he was telling the truth (and he probably was), then she really didn't have much of a choice in the situation. Not if she wanted to go on living, anyway.

Jackson seemed not to care that Lisa was inwardly raging at him, but his voice did seem to level off, and he sounded calmer. "As it is, I've still got my hands caught in this wonderful device…" he showed her the handcuffs, still clamped around his wrists, "…so I won't be able to function as easily as usual, which is going to be a hindrance. And at this point, neither of us can afford to be delayed." Jackson's gaze was composed and collected, and he seemed to have good grip on what to do. Still, it was unnerving for Lisa to hear him tranquilly discuss such a dire situation. "In any case, Leese, it's in your best interest to come with me. I've got a car," he nodded towards the SUV, "which will make things go a lot faster. Much more so than wandering around on foot, in any case, which you'll be doing soon if you decide not to come."

Lisa looked at him, mentally balancing the pros and cons. Granted, she hated Jackson with a vengeance, but not enough that she would be willing to die rather than go with him. But she wasn't sure if she could trust him. He may have told her once that he never lied to her, but she knew that wasn't true. Or, at least, she was pretty sure.

Jackson, almost as though he was reading her thoughts, spoke sharply to the ambivalent Lisa. "Leese, my upper arm is shredded. I can't walk without limping severely. And, if you hadn't noticed, those men tied me up and gagged me, just like they did to you. I have no reason to lie to you, and even if I _was_ lying, two of my limbs are injured. I really can't put up too much of a fight."

Lisa sighed. She had to concede that point as well. "Do you have some sort of plan for getting out of here?"

"Yes, I do. Now, are you coming or not?" He stared at her coldly, and Lisa knew that he was dead serious about everything he'd just said to her.

She stared at him for a few more seconds, thinking everything over. Finally, she exhaled sharply, and replied. "Fine. I'll help you. What do we do?"

--------------------------------------------

"We could be perfect one last night

And die like star crossed lovers when we fight…

This riddle of revenge

Please understand that it has to be this way and

Stand

Up fucking tall

Don't let them see your back and

Take

My fucking hand

And never be afraid again…

Oh, how wrong we were to think

That immortality meant never dying"

-My Chemical Romance's "Our Lady of Sorrows"

--------------------------------------------


	6. Fly Away, Jack! Fly Away, Jill!

I'm ba-a-a-a-a-ack!

--------------------------------------------

"There were two blackbirds sitting on a hill

One named Jack, the other named Jill

Fly away, Jack! Fly away, Jill!

Come back, Jack! Come back, Jill!"

-'There Were Two Blackbirds'

--------------------------------------------

"_Do you have some sort of plan for getting out of here?"_

"Yes, I do. Now, are you coming or not?" He stared at her coldly, and Lisa knew that he was dead serious about everything he'd just said to her.

She stared at him for a few more seconds, thinking everything over. Finally, she exhaled sharply, and replied. "Fine. I'll help you. What do we do?"

Upon hearing her response, Jackson plowed ahead into his description of the plan, giving off the feeling that there was really no time to lose. To Lisa, it was slightly worrying, but at least it reassured her that he seemed to know what he was doing.

"First thing we have to do is get in the car and start moving. The further we are from this house when they figure out we're missing, the better. Once they know we're gone, they're going to alert everyone they work with in the area, and they _will_ be looking for us, so we really don't want to have to stop anywhere while we're making our escape."

Lisa frowned. "When you mean everyone in the area, how much space are you talking about?"

"Let's just say we don't want to have to stop anywhere within the tri-state area, at _least_."

"Exactly how many people work for your company?"

"More than you'd care to know about." Jackson walked over to the SUV, opened the door, then fumbled around for something in the glove compartment. When he exited the car, Lisa noticed that he was holding a set of keys. "Can you drive one of these?"

Neglecting to mention that she'd driven one into and over one of his associates, Lisa merely blinked, somewhat bewildered. "You want _me_ to drive?"

Jackson held up his wrists, still bound by handcuffs. "Well, with this fun device on me, it wouldn't be too safe. Besides, it's dark out. Nobody's going to recognize you in the driver seat when it's pitch black."

Lisa, not needing any further encouragement, grabbed the keys from his hand. "Okay."

Jackson climbed into the back of the car, and Lisa made her way to the driver's seat, feeling somewhat empowered. _She_ got to drive, rather than Jackson. In some childish way, this pleased her.

As she turned the key and brought the engine to life, Jackson rooted around for something in the back while giving instructions. "If you keep going straight from the cave entrance, there's a dirt road there that'll lead to the highway."

"Okay." Lisa fixed the rearview mirror and adjusted her seat, noticing that Jackson had pulled out a medium-sized plastic case from under one of the seats. It seemed like one of those first-aid kits that are designed to be kept inside your car, and Lisa mused that Jackson's shoulder and leg must have been hurting more than she'd originally thought.

Lisa turned the key in the ignition and, hearing the engine rev to life, began driving across the leafy terrain. As she drove, she made sure to avoid hitting any trees along the way, though there weren't enough to cause too much of a problem. Using the rearview mirror, Lisa could see the odd house shrinking into the distance as the car made its way through the wooded area.

"Do you think they'll hear the car?" Lisa asked, not bothering to turn to look at Jackson.

"Not likely; we're fairly far away, and they'll write it off as a car on the road that runs by the front of the house."

"You sure?"

"Yes, _Leese_, I'm sure." He sounded slightly irritated, but Lisa didn't care. She might have been stuck with him, but that didn't mean she had to be nice about. But, then again, neither did he. Well, she knew she could handle whatever verbal jabs he threw out at her.

After a few minutes, Lisa reached the dirt road. She twisted her neck around and asked, "Which way, right or left?"

Jackson, gauze wrapped around his shoulder and ankle, jerked his head towards the right. "That way. It'll lead us straight to the highway."

Lisa nodded. "Where are we going, by the way?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"…I thought you said you had a _plan_."

"I do. But first, I need to pick up a newspaper."

"_What?-!"_

Jackson, obviously taking some delight in Lisa's outrage, explained himself as though he were speaking to a five year-old who had just demanded to know why the sky is blue. "The police have already issued a report about you to the media. Chances are, they're trying to guess where you'd most likely run and hide, and the newspapers will let us know where exactly they're looking for you. And, since we don't want to get caught, we need to know where they're looking so we can go somewhere else." He flashed her a mocking smile. "Got that, _Leese?_"

Lisa merely put on the car's blinker and began making the turn. "Whatever you say, mon capitan."

Jackson gave her a dark look, but said nothing as they turned onto the street and drove away.

--------------------------------------------

Approximately a half-hour later, Lisa sat and in the parking lot of a rest station near the highway, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel to the tune of a song she didn't remember the words to. It was pitch black out, and the only noises to be heard came from the few cars passing by on the highway.

Lisa glanced out at the rest area and saw no one. The whole place was bare, except for two street lamps dotting the parking lot. The rest station itself had some light coming from inside, but not very much. And it was quiet. Very, very quiet.

Lisa tried her best not to feel on edge. Yes, she was alone, unarmed, in a parking lot in the middle of the night. But she had no reason to feel uneasy. Jackson would be back in a few minutes, and then they would keep driving down the highway. Nothing to be afraid of.

After all, it wasn't like anyone was _chasing _them or something.

Lisa, trying her best to distract herself, fumbled around under the seat to see if Jackson kept a tire iron there. If she had something on hand that she could use as a weapon, then maybe she'd feel somewhat more secure.

She had a fear of parking lots. She'd been paranoid about them ever since that day two years ago, and the incident onboard the red eye hadn't eased her fears about being attacked. Lisa hated the feeling of vulnerability that came with knowing that she'd been at someone's mercy _twice_. And here she was again, running for her life with a man who'd tried to kill her, and who she'd tried to kill. Lisa detested the fact that she was so helpless to stop these situations from happening, but there was nothing she could do about it anymore.

Lisa sighed. No tire iron under the seat. Lisa wondered what had happened to her purse when she'd been knocked out. If she'd had it with her, then she could use her father's pistol if anything happened.

Lisa was about to switch on the radio to calm her nerves when she heard a voice coming from near the passenger side window.

"Boo."

To her embarrassment, Lisa jumped when she heard his voice. Without even turning her head, she knew that it was Jackson who was lightly chuckling at her expense. If she'd had a tire iron in her hands, she probably would've slammed it against his skull. Instead, she merely seethed.

"Asshole."

"Touché. Anything happen while I was in there?"

"No. Did you get your damn newspaper?"

"Yup." Jackson held up the Miami Herald. Even with barely any light, Lisa recognized the photo of herself on the front cover, and she started to feel sick to her stomach. Jackson said nothing, but opened the car door and sat down in the passenger seat. Unfolding the newspaper in his hands, he began reading it aloud with an almost mirthful expression.

"Lisa Reisert was last seen at the Lux Atlantic by several hotel employees, blah blah blah. She is to be considered dangerous, etc. Should anyone spot her, they are to inform the police, yadda yadda. Do not attempt to confront her, as she can become violent. The police believe that she is heading towards Dallas, where she has many relatives."

He refolded the newspaper. "The police have no imagination."

Lisa grabbed the paper out of his hands, ignoring the tsk-ing noises Jackson made in reproach. Instead, she scanned over the article about her. The paper had written down everything they could about her: her family history, her work at the hotel, her political affiliations, even mentioning her occasional trips to the bar near the hotel. There were photos of her from her hotel employee ID and from Grandma Henrietta's funeral, and some urgent notices from the police that she _must_ be found before she had a chance to strike again.

Lisa felt like she might be sick.

Jackson, either not noticing or not caring about Lisa's distress, began speaking once she set down the paper. "We should start driving to New York. New York City's the best place to hide right now, and it's far enough away that they won't put other agents on high alert for us there."

Lisa frowned. "How long will it take to drive to there?"

"About two days. It's a long drive, but it'll be worth it. There's five whole boroughs to hide in, and I have connections that'll give us false identities. Then all we have to do is get to JFK Airport and get to a country where they won't be looking for us."

Lisa nodded slowly, letting her mind absorb this. She had to admit, even though he was still as much of an ass as ever, Jackson seemed to know what he was talking about. He had a good idea of what to do, and he had a plan for getting them out of there. Considering the situation, this put Lisa's mind a little more at ease.

Not that she'd ever let _him_ know that.

She put the car in reverse and started backing out of the parking lot. As she steered the car back towards the highway, she glanced to her right, past Jackson to the side-view mirror. As she did so, however, she noticed something odd.

She looked down at Jackson's hands. "What happened to your handcuffs?"

"Used a safety pin I found in the back and I picked it open." He smirked. "Why, are you upset that you don't have me all chained up?"

Lisa shrugged as nonchalantly as she could muster. "No, I just wondered why you didn't look like the end result of a bad S&M session."

Jackson rolled his eyes as they made their way onto the highway.

--------------------------------------------

The next hour or so was spent in a calm silence. Despite the high rush of emotion that accompanied a run from the law, Lisa didn't want to spend her time chatting with Jackson Rippner. If anything, she spent her time wondering why, out of anyone on the face of the planet, she had to be in a car with a man who had once tried to kill her.

But Fate was cruel, she supposed.

In any event, Jackson didn't exactly seem thrilled to be with her. He continually stared out the passenger-side window, rubbing his wrists and brooding. He didn't seem to notice anything that was going on around him, only snapping out of his daze when Lisa switched on the radio. Past that, he made no attempts at communication, except to occasionally murmur "Turn right" or "Switch lanes".

As they drove, Lisa couldn't help but be plagued with curiosity regarding the men she had seen back at the house. What would they do when they saw that Jackson and Lisa were missing? Had they already discovered their absence?

As these thoughts whirled through her head, Lisa didn't even notice her eyelids beginning to droop. She only snapped out of her daze when she heard a loud honk coming from the car behind her, and she realized that she had almost hit the car in the next lane. The man behind her switched lanes and drove up beside her, shrieking obscenities before speeding away.

Embarrassed, Lisa tried to focus on the road again as her cheeks flushed red. From the seat next to her, she could hear Jackson dryly reply, "Way to go, Leese."

"Shut up," she shot back, still mortified by her near-accident. Tilting his head, Jackson gave her an odd look before stating, "You almost fell asleep, didn't you?"

"No!" she replied quickly, her cheeks still flushed. Still staring at her, Jackson evenly replied, "It's three in the morning. Are you sure you can drive?"

Lisa bit her lip, refusing to respond. Jackson sighed, obviously annoyed with the stubborn woman sitting next to him. "Get off at the next exit. We'll find a motel at the next exit, and we'll get some sleep and figure out what to do in the morning."

Frowning slightly, Lisa asked, "Why can't you just drive?"

Rubbing his eyes, Jackson answered, "You think I'm not tired, too?"

Lisa conceded that he had a point. Looking out at a passing road sign as she willed her eyes to stay open, she stated, "We have about a half-mile until the next exit."

Jackson merely murmured, "Alright then," before going back to staring out the window. Lisa, almost grateful for the excuse to stop driving, mentally reminded herself that she only had a short way to go before she could rest. Until then, she needed to stay alert. There were people that wanted to kill them, and she couldn't afford to not be on guard.

Quietly, she asked, "Do you think they know we're gone yet?"

Without turning to look at her, Jackson replied, "I'd say most definitely. The question is how long did it take them to figure it out."

Feeling slightly more on edge, Lisa continued her questioning. "So they're probably looking for us already?"

Still staring out the window, Jackson evenly answered, "By now, they've probably got as many people as they can muster out looking for us. That means checking out your apartment, the hotel, scanning the highways, whatever it takes."

Poring over this, Lisa muttered, "So this is a big deal to them, huh?"

Sighing, Jackson replied, "Killing the head of Homeland Security isn't a small thing, Leese."

As the car smoothly made its way down the highway, Lisa thought over this, and Jackson seemed to go back to his dazed stare. After a minute or so of silence, Lisa asked, "How much?"

Jackson blinked and looked at her with a confused expression on his face. "What?"

"How much did you get paid to kill Keefe?"

Jackson sighed, rubbing his eyes in annoyance. Lisa, however, was unwilling to budge. "How much?"

He sighed once again and asked, "Leese, do you honestly want to know?"

"Yes," she answered simply. "I want to know how much it costs to kill a person."

Jackson, seemingly irritated, stopped to think for a second. After a moment's meditation, he replied, "There were ten of us working on it. We each got a million dollars to start with, and we were told we'd get another half a million at the end of the job."

Lisa pondered this for a second or two, adding the numbers in her head. "Fifteen million," she said to herself. "That's how much it takes? If someone marched up to you tomorrow with that much money in hand, then you would kill anyone they wanted?"

"Depends," he stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "A lot of factors go into it. Travel expenses, any security personnel that might be there, location of the execution, expense of any cover-ups that might occur. Keefe was a big-name job, so he was expensive." Smiling wryly, he added, "Someone like you or your father would be a lot closer to, say, fifteen _thousand_. Hope that doesn't knock you down a peg."

Lisa shook her head, frowning. "You're disgusting."

"You asked. I'm merely stating the simple truth."

Frustrated with him, Lisa tried to focus on the road as she vehemently replied, "How can you be so cavalier about what you do? You murder people, yet you act casual whenever you talk about it."

Jackson, watching her from the corner of his eye, answered calmly, "Not everyone is like you, Lisa."

Shaking her head, Lisa said, "That doesn't make you any less of a monster."

When she turned to look at Jackson, he seemed to be distracted, staring at the side-view mirror and frowning.

"Are you even paying attention?" she asked, annoyed with her silent companion. Without even acknowledging that he'd heard her, Jackson murmured, "That car is following us awfully close."

Lisa glanced at the rearview mirror. Sure enough, a BMW was behind them, following too close for comfort. Uneasily, Lisa replied, "It's the highway. Tailgating's not that unusual."

Jackson glanced out the passenger side window. "So's the car on our right."

Lisa shifted in her seat. "I'm sure that it's nothing." She glanced at the rearview mirror to see that the BMW had fallen back a bit, and was following them at a more normal distance. "Look, he pulled back. It's probably nothi-…"

She was cut off when the BMW accelerated suddenly and lurched into the back of the car, shattering their rear window.

Lisa's neck snapped back to see the shattered glass. "Oh, _shit_."

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"Hand in mine

Into your icy blues

And then I'd say to you

We could take to the highway…

And I would drive on to the end with you

A liquor store or two

Keeps the gas tank full

And I feel like there's nothing left to do

But prove myself to you

And we'll keep it running…

But this time,

We'll show them…

Like scarecrows

That fuel this flame,

We're burning,

Forever and ever."

-My Chemical Romance's 'Demolition Lovers'

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	7. Shattered Glass

I'm back once again with more Jackson and Lisa goodness! Sorry the chapter's so short; I'm kind of in a rush to write this, since I'll be going away for four days soon. Hope you like it!

Also, I recently wrote a one-shot called "Salome's Dance", and I'd really appreciate it if you guys read it and left reviews. It would really mean a lot to me.

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Disclaimer: I hope it doesn't shock you if I tell you that I don't own Red Eye.

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As the shattered glass of the rearview mirror flew at her from behind, Lisa swerved the SUV off the side of the road and slammed her foot against the brake, her heart pounding frantically in her chest. As the car slowed to a halt, she switched it from Drive to Park as her mind raced frantically. Taking a quick glance at the rearview mirror, Lisa could see that the man that had rammed into her was climbing out of his car. A quick glance to the right showed that the man in the second car was also exiting his vehicle.

Panicking, Lisa unfastened her seatbelt as quickly as she could in the hopes of making a quick escape. She was about untangle herself and flee from the car when she saw the man that had rammed into her standing next to the driver's side door. He glared down at her with eyes like a snake's, and when he opened his mouth, his voice sounded like a cobra's hiss.

"Open up," he ordered her in a venomous tone, and Lisa could see that he was holding a huge hunting knife in his left hand. Glancing between the knife and the man's face, Lisa was unsure of what to do. She turned to her right to look at Jackson, whom she'd almost forgotten in the excitement. Hoping for some sort of sign from him, she discovered that he was in a similar predicament. The man from the car on their right stood next to Jackson's window carrying a similar blade, and the two were staring at each other with icy eyes.

As she was about to turn back to the man by her window, there was a loud smashing sound, and more shattered glass rained down on her. Lisa yelped as she realized that the man had used the butt of his knife to smash open the window. As she tried to collect herself, the man reached inside the car and unlocked the door. Only a second or so later, Lisa could feel his hand on her wrist as she was yanked out of the car.

Standing upright, Lisa could feel something sharp and cold under her chin, and she knew that he was holding the knife against her throat, just as she knew that he was standing behind her from the way his breath warmed her ear. She could feel his chest against her back, the heat of his skin and his heart as it beat _ba-dump, ba-dump_, and it made her want to throw up.

Lisa could see Jackson standing up slowly, the other man holding his own knife against the side of Jackson's face. Jackson's expression was one of pure hate, as though it were all he could do to not spit in the man's face.

There was a buzzing in Lisa's ear. The man was talking. "You got him?"

The other man nodded. "Yeah, he's fine." As the response emanated from his lips, he didn't seem to notice that Jackson had reached for something in his pocket.

More buzzing. "Alright, let's get them in the car."

Lisa felt his hand on her shoulder, and it pulled her to turn around. She did so, and was forced to look directly into the snake eyes of her captor. With another hiss, he told her, "We're going to get in the car now, and you're not going to make a move unless I tell you to. Understand?"

Lisa nodded meekly. The man seemed pleased.

"Good. No worries then."

Suddenly, there was a loud bang and Lisa turned to see a smoking pistol in Jackson's hand. The other man with the knife stepped back, and Lisa could see a pool of red forming on his shoulder.

"You son of a bitch," he growled, and he quickly grabbed Jackson's arm and wrenched it behind his back.

Lisa, noticing that her own captor was distracted by their exchange, used the opportunity to kick him in the stomach with her heel. Caught off guard, the man dropped his knife and grunted. Lisa tried to pull her leg away, but he quickly grabbed her ankle and flung her to the ground.

As she landed on her back, Lisa hissed in pain as the gravel dug into her skin. Gritting her teeth, she used her heel to kick the man in the ankle, her stiletto embedding itself into his leg. As he grunted in pain, she sideswiped his other leg with her foot, knocking him to the ground.

As she struggled to get up, Lisa could hear shots going off as Jackson wrestled with the other man. At least two bullets had been fired, both flying harmlessly into the air as Jackson pinned the other man beneath him and began to punch him repeatedly in the face with his free hand.

Lisa crawled away from her own assailant, trying to reach the knife he had just dropped. But before her fingers could clasp the handle, she felt a hand grabbing her ankle and she was suddenly pulled backwards. Flipping onto her back, Lisa shook her leg violently, hoping to make him let go. The man kept a firm grip as he yanked her towards him, at least until her foot connected sharply with his chin. With that, his grip loosened, and she managed to squirm away.

Jackson's opponent had managed to twist Jackson's arm away, but Jackson had simply slammed the butt of the gun against his knuckles, causing the other man to cry out in pain and release him. Using this opportunity, Jackson fired a shot that whizzed past the other man's ear. Not missing a beat, the man grabbed Jackson's injured shoulder and dug his fingers into the wound, causing Jackson to wince badly and pull his arms back. Almost smiling, the man proceeded to kick Jackson in the stomach, knocking him to the ground.

Lisa managed to writhe over to the abandoned knife, her fingers wrapping around the handle even as she heard her attacker getting to his bearings. Blade in hand, she pulled her legs towards her torso and sat up just as the man moved towards her. His face contorted with anger, he didn't seem to notice the knife until Lisa made a swift motion with her arm, and his expression became blank as blood dribbled from a gash in his neck.

Gasping in surprise, he fell on top of Lisa, his hands reaching for his throat. Lisa, panicking, kicked him away, and he gurgled in pain. When she had gotten away, she sat up and glanced down at the man lying on the ground as she tightened her fingers around the handle of the knife. Still clutching his throat, he seemed to have abandoned all thoughts of Lisa as he lay helplessly on the ground, almost whimpering in agony. Lisa, hesitating for only a second, bent over slightly and made a swift motion with her arms, stabbing the blade and embedding it into the back of the man's neck. There was another painful gurgle, and the man seemed to shudder before collapsing onto the ground. And with that, Lisa knew he was dead.

A loud bang came from Lisa's right, and she looked over to see that Jackson's pstol was smoking once more. His opponent fell over backwards, blood streaming from his face freely. Jackson had apparently hit his mark.

Pocketing the gun, Jackson turned to Lisa and walked a few feet towards her, asking in an almost callous fashion, "You alright?"

Lisa nodded, trying not to look at the corpse lying next to her. Jackson, spotting her once-assailant, asked, "Is he dead?"

She nodded again. Looking down at the body with an expression of disgust on his face, Jackson answered, "Good."

Using his foot, Jackson flipped over the body to look at the face of Lisa's newly deceased attacker. Trying to avoid looking at the body, Lisa asked, "Who was he?"

Jackson turned to look at her, but Lisa merely stared at the ground. Dispassionately, he answered, "His name was Laurence. He was one of my coworkers for the organization."

Still not looking at Jackson or the body, Lisa asked, "And the other one? Did he work with you, too?"

"Yes. His name was Ray."

Thinking back to the beginning of their brawl, Lisa frowned slightly and asked, "Why'd you shoot him in the shoulder?"

Crouching down to examine Laurence further, Jackson shrugged as he looked over the slit in Laurence's throat. Nonchalantly, he answered, "I was aiming for his face. I missed."

"Oh." Lisa hugged her knees and allowed her eyes to drift over Laurence's body. Blood was still leaking from his neck, making a mess of the grass beneath. The blood formed a pool around Laurence's head, and Lisa could almost imagine it as a sort of macabre halo, one that demons wore instead of saints. The expression on his face was one of fear, one showing that he had died just after he realized what Fate had in store for him.

Standing up, Jackson stared at her coldly and commanded, "Stop it."

Snapping out of her daze, Lisa asked, "What?"

"Staring at him isn't helping matters. He's not coming back from the dead, and you shouldn't want him to."

Shaking her head slightly, Lisa murmured, "No, no, it's just…I never though that…that I could…"

"That you could kill a man the way you just did?" Lisa shrugged, continuing to hug her knees. All she could do was tell herself not to cry, not in front of Jackson. Even as she stared at the ground, she could hear Jackson's voice stating in a taunting manner, "If memory serves, you almost killed me only a few weeks ago. Yet I highly doubt you were this distraught, Leese."

Slightly irritated by his tone and his insinuations, Lisa snapped, "That was different."

"How so?"

Lisa ignored him, turning to look once more at the dead man that lay in front of her. What had his name been? Laurence. He didn't look that old. He was probably the same age as her. He could have a family somewhere…maybe not a wife or kids, but a father or a mother or siblings…

Against her will, Lisa began to tremble violently. "Oh shit…" she muttered. "I just…oh shit."

"Lisa, get over it." Jackson's tone remained relentlessly unsympathetic, and Lisa wished he would just go away. But he continued to speak, impatient and aggravated.

"The only difference between me and him is that I lived and he didn't. Believe me, you shouldn't be this emotional."

With no compassion or patience in his voice, Jackson stated, "He was trying to kidnap you so that he could take you back and kill you, Leese. And believe me, if he'd succeeded, he wouldn't be nearly this hysterical."

Lisa ignored him, hoping that he'd eventually stop talking. When several seconds had gone by without either of them moving or speaking, Lisa could hear Jackson sigh in frustration. "By anyone's standards, that man deserved to die. He was an asshole and a murderer. Would you have rather he'd killed you and he'd lived to kill other people? Is that what you'd prefer?"

Another long pause. Another sigh. Jackson spoke again, his voice an odd mixture of authority and pleading. "We have to go. Someone will eventually walk in on the corpses."

"What about…" Lisa looked at the bodies and closed her eyes, willing herself to ignore their presence. "What if they told someone where we are?" She looked up at Jackson, hoping that he had answers, hoping that he somehow knew a way out of the hell they'd stumbled into.

Jackson, still seeming spooked, ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. "They're dead now." Looking down at the men at his feet, he stated quietly, "They can't tell anyone anything."

Turning away from Lisa, he stared at the two cars that had crashed into each other, the front of one crumpling into an accordion in a similar fashion as the back of the SUV. His eyes then traveled to the unharmed vehicle, the one that Lisa recognized as belonging to the man Jackson had shot.

"We're going to need to take Ray's car," Jackson stated simply. "Ours is too damaged to drive anymore."

"What about all the stuff in the back?" Lisa asked. "What do we do about that?"

Jackson considered this for a second. He strode over to the crushed back of the SUV, which sat about three feet away from the crumpled front of Laurence's car. Unceremoniously, he yanked the handle to the trunk door and flung it open. A stream of shattered glass from the window poured out, as well as tons of destroyed foodstuffs.

Ignoring the unholy mess that had just been unleashed, Jackson reached into the back and pulled out the medical kit that he had used for his shoulder. Then he grabbed the handle to a black briefcase that Lisa didn't remember seeing before. Carelessly, he yanked it from the trunk and tossed it at Lisa, who caught it in her arms. Curious, she undid its clasps and peered inside. Inside was nothing more than some wigs and makeuo cases.

"What's this?" she asked as Jackson walked back over towards her.

"They're for disguises," he said simply, reaching inside the briefcase. "But that's not why we need it."

A few clicks came from inside the briefcase, and a few seconds later, Jackson was removing a false bottom from the case. Peering inside, Lisa could see stack upon stack of hundred dollar bills neatly aligned.

Eyes widening, she looked up at Jackson anxiously. He seemed not to notice as he reached into the briefcase and grabbed several bills before stuffing them into his wallet.

"Jackson, how…where did all this money come from?"

Not even looking at her, Jackson replied, "I told you in the car how expensive assassinations were. You didn't think I'd have some money saved up?" Stuffing the wallet into his pocket, he added, "Besides, we can't use credit cards or checks, because Guiteau has my banking information and could use it to track us. And if he finds us…" Giving her an odd look, he stated, "Let's just say he'll be furious."

Biting her lip, Lisa asked, "Guiteau…is he the man from the back of the truck?"

Walking towards Ray's car, Jackson didn't even turn his head as he answered, "Yes." Taking a quick glance at the back of the SUV, Jackson added, "That's all we'll need. We should get going."

Without another word, he climbed into the driver's seat. Lisa glanced back one more time at the two bodies before stepping over to the passenger seat and getting in. With that, Jackson turned the key in the ignition, and the car sped away.

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"_These hands stained red_

_From the times that I've killed you and then_

_We can wash down this engagement ring_

_With poison and kerosene._

_We'll laugh as we die,_

_And we'll celebrate the end of things with cheap champagne."_

-"Drowning Lessons" by My Chemical Romance


	8. Hotel Break

Sorry I took so long updating. Things have been kinda crazy as of late. Um…I really don't have anything of importance to say, except no MCR quotes this chapter. (winces) Sorry. But I'm running out of them, and I have a few saved for the upcoming chapters. So, instead, I bring you…Panic! At the Disco quotes

And also, I'd like to note that after this chapter, there will only be (at MOST) three chapters left in the story. Just a note for the curious.

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Disclaimer: NO I DON'T OWN THEM.

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"And I am the queen of this summer hotel

or the laughing bee on a stalk of death."

-Anne Sexton

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The next half-hour or so was spent driving down the highway in silence, with both its occupants too tired and too preoccupied with their own thoughts to talk to each other. With Jackson behind the wheel, Lisa allowed herself to lean her forehead on the passenger-side window. Feeling the cool glass against her skin, she let herself close her eyes and succumb to sleep, even as she hoped no nightmares would greet her.

Her slumber met an abrupt end when the car suddenly swerved and a long honk sounded as a truck sped past them in the next lane.

"What was that?" Lisa asked, heart pounding from being startled.

Jackson, appearing on edge, muttered, "The car…_meandered _a little into the next lane, which may or may not have been cutting that truck off." Cursing under his breath, he rubbed his eyes with his free hand.

"…did you fall asleep?" Lisa asked incredulously. Jackson chose not to respond to her inquiry, instead shooting her a dirty look. Lisa chose to take that as a "yes".

She sighed and began to rub her own eyes. Shit, when was the last time either of them had gotten a good sleep? "How far is the next exit?"

"Five more miles, assuming we don't crash by then," Jackson stated with a high dose of irritation. "We'll stop as soon as we can get to a motel or something."

"Good." Staring out the window at the passing signs and billboards, Lisa wondered, "Where are we?"

"I don't know."

"Well, we must have reached Georgia by now, right?"

"I _don't know_." Jackson gave her a look before adding, "I haven't exactly been noting every road sign that we pass."

Leaning back against her seat's headrest, Lisa shut her eyes and sighed in annoyance. "Wonderful. So we're not only in a stolen car and running from both the cops and your employers. There's a good chance that we're also _lost_."

"We're _not_ lost," Jackson insisted. Rubbing his eyes once again, he added, "I'll figure out where we are in the morning. There's probably a road map in the car somewhere."

Lisa shut her eyes, too tired to get into an argument. "Whatever you say."

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About ten minutes later, Lisa could feel a hand shaking her shoulder and a low voice harshly insisting, "Leese, _wake up._"

Sitting up before opening her eyes, Lisa looked over to see Jackson leaning over her through the passenger-side window. Seeing that she was awake, he stated nonchalantly, "I found a motel."

Glancing towards the windshield, Lisa could see that they were, indeed, in the parking lot of a strip motel. A faded neon sign proclaimed 'VACANCIES' to anyone caring to look, and the walls were a faded pink color with an even more faded green pattern. The place seemed somewhat tacky and run-down, but as long as it had rooms, Lisa didn't care.

Reaching over to the handle of the car door, Lisa waited for Jackson to extract himself from the window frame before exiting. "What time is it?"

"About four AM." As Lisa got out, she could see he was carrying that briefcase from before, the one stuffed with more money than she would've earned in a lifetime. Before she could feel envious, though, she came to the sudden realization that one of her legs had fallen asleep. Wobbling slightly, she leaned against the car for support, hoping that the feeling would wear off in a minute or so.

Not seeming to notice Lisa's imbalance, Jackson shut the car door quietly. Then he extracted his wallet from his pocket, and Lisa could vaguely make out the 'JR' emblazoned on the side. All business and stern attitude, Jackson turned to Lisa and said, "I'll go in and get us a room. You just wait here."

The prospect of staying alone in a parking lot at four AM did not appeal to Lisa in the slightest. As Jackson started to walk away, Lisa called out, "Wait!" Limping slightly because of her sleeping leg, she walked as quickly as she could to catch up with him. As soon as she had reached him, she stated as firmly as she could manage, "I'll come in with you."

Jackson stopped walking and turned to look at her. "Leese, you're currently one of America's Most Wanted. Your face was plastered across the latest edition of every newspaper. Do you _really_ think that it's a wise idea to risk someone recognizing you?"

Lisa didn't respond. On the one hand, what he was saying was true. But deep down, she was terrified of having to wait out there alone. She wouldn't feel safe in the least. Following him inside meant there'd be at least one other person with her, even if it _was_ Jackson Rippner.

Seeing that Lisa wasn't going to listen to him, Jackson sighed. "Here." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. "Be glad that I'm too tired to debate this further."

Lisa accepted them gratefully. She unfolded them and pushed them onto the brink of her nose, thinking how silly she must look wearing them at night. Jackson seemed satisfied, adding, "If we're lucky, that'll be enough to keep the desk attendant from realizing you're the woman who launched a missile." Turning to glance at the motel, he added, "And you need to come up with an alias for yourself."

Lisa thought this over. After a few seconds, she decided to settle for her mother's name before marrying her father. "Jill," she said. "Jill Bouvier."

"Well, good, Jill, nice to meet you." Jackson answered. "You can call me Jim Crane. Let's get going, shall we?"

Lisa nodded, and they began to walk towards the lobby of the motel.

Inside was a bored-looking receptionist behind the front desk and not much else. The girl at the desk was in the middle of reading a magazine as they entered, her head supported by a propped-up forearm as she silently pored over the pages. She didn't even look up at Jackson and Lisa's entrance, too absorbed in her periodical to hazard a glance.

Striding up to the desk with a casual smile on his lips, Jackson sweetly said, "We'd like a room, please."

Without looking up, she blandly asked, "Single or double?"

"Double."

As she continued to stare at the glossy pages, the hand not propping up her head reached underneath the desk to retrieve a set of keys. In one fluid motion, she brought them over the desktop and dropped them into Jackson's awaiting palm. And even as she did this, she continued speaking. "You can pay when you check out. If you lose your keys, you'll need to pay for a replacement set." Flipping over a page, she finished by adding, "You're in Room 23. Have a good night."

Jackson nodded his thanks, stuffing the key into his jacket pocket. He turned to Lisa, and without a word they both began to walk away. Lisa, still limping slightly, had to marvel at how _easy _that had been. It wasn't until Lisa's hand was clasped on the lobby door handle that she heard the receptionist's voice again.

"If you fuck while you're in there, be quiet about it. We've already had some noise problems from other couples."

A muscle in Jackson's cheek twitched in annoyance, and Lisa turned cherry red while desperately trying to hold in the urge to laugh. She managed to suppress it until they reached the door to their room, where Lisa let out a small fit of chuckles.

Jackson did not seem to share her amusement. Unlocking the door stiffly, his tone was stern and completely lacking humor. "Get in." Lisa obeyed, but not before she'd subsided into a series of giggles.

By the time Jackson had followed her in, turned on the lights, and taken off his jacket, Lisa was calm again. She could see the seriousness of their situation, and the solemnity of everything that had happened that day. But still…what a strange thing to tell your guests! If she made it out of this, she'd have to tell Cynthia.

Before she was lost to another set of hysterics, Jackson had begun addressing her the way that a commander does to his troops. "We shouldn't stay here too late tomorrow morning. At the very latest, we should be ready to go by 11:30." Running his fingers through his hair with a harried anxiety, Jackson added, "And we need to steal one of the cars in the parking lot."

Lisa frowned. "Why?"

"Assuming the police have found Ray and Laurence's bodies, they'll figure out pretty soon that whoever killed them took off with Ray's car. If they find us with his car, we're in deeper shit than we are already. We'll have to keep stealing different cars every time we stop if we don't want to get caught."

Lisa bit her lip. "But what about your SUV? We left it with the bodies. Won't they check its registration and figure out it belongs to you?"

Jackson shook his head. "They can't. I stole it from a dealership. It's not registered to anyone."

"Oh."

Jackson, still seeming anxious, stated firmly, "With that in mind, I say we get some sleep."

"Agreed."

With that abrupt end to their discussion, the two of them walked towards separate mattresses. Lisa felt uneasy, partly because of the direness of the day's events, and partly because of the strangeness of the situation. As she kicked off her shoes, she had to wonder at how she managed to end up sharing a motel room with a man she hated and who'd once wanted her dead. But Fate was strange sometimes, and here she was.

Glancing over to the other bed, Lisa could see that Jackson was already settled in, eyes shut in preparation for sleep. Shaking her head at their bizarre circumstances, Lisa lay down on her mattress and pulled a comforter over her, and within a few minutes she was fast asleep.

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"It's these substandard motels on the corner of 4th and Freemont Street.

Appealing, only because they are just that un-appealing

Any practiced Catholic would cross themselves upon entering.

The rooms have a hint of asbestos and maybe a just dash of formaldehyde,

And the habit of decomposing right before your very eyes.

Along with the people inside…"

-"Build God And Then We'll Talk"


End file.
